The Forbidden Brother

Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

One (#udc41c013-50ec-5a72-8019-28d379bcba15)

Jillian Ross ordered a bottle of the house’s best wine and tipped back in her chair at her table near the window. Considering that the bar, centrally located in downtown Cheyenne, Wyoming, was called the Thirsty Cow, and the best vintage available was a cabernet she could have picked up at her local grocery store, she was pleasantly surprised by how good the first sip tasted.

Maybe that was because Ordering the Best Wine Off the Menu was a line item on her list of One Hundred Life Adventures—a set of goals she’d composed during radiation treatments for breast cancer two years ago. She was determined to accomplish every single objective, and then some, now that she had a second chance at living. It felt incredibly satisfying to cross off another ambition, even if she wasn’t in a five-star establishment. Just being in Cheyenne fulfilled another goal, since Seeing the Western States had also made the list.

Actually, the travel category accounted for almost a third of her line items, now that she thought about it. She’d hoped her new job as a film location scout would put her in the perfect position to see the world—or at least the United States. Too bad she was already at risk of losing this gig.

“Can I get you anything else, miss?” asked a tall, harried waiter in a T-shirt printed with the name of a local college. Balancing a trayful of beers, he set her bottle on the table.

Country music blared through the Thirsty Cow, the Friday night crush a mix of local ranchers and tourists, peppered with military personnel from the air force base. Jillian had driven in from Pasadena three days before to meet with a wealthy ranch owner—the reclusive and powerful Cody McNeill—to try to change his mind about allowing a film crew on his land. Her mission was hampered by the man’s complete lack of presence online. How could she make a personal pitch if she couldn’t get a direct line to him?

The formal written request she’d sent to his business manager had generated a tersely worded refusal. But Jillian’s boss had fallen in love with the photos she’d taken of the Black Creek Ranch—photos she’d snapped before she’d known the land was so carefully guarded. She hadn’t seen any posted signs. But now that she needed formal permissions to move ahead, the higher-ups in her organization wouldn’t consider any of Jillian’s plan B spots, pushing her to sign the deal and book the Black Creek Ranch. Now, she was in town to convince ranching magnate Cody McNeill to change his mind.

“I’m all set, thank you.” Jillian lifted her glass to toast her retreating waiter. “This is perfect.”

She would never drink the whole bottle on her own, especially since she’d carefully avoided alcohol following her initial diagnosis. But she was at the two-year mark, damn it, and she liked the idea of having it on the table to top off the glass. Besides, who was she to question the wisdom of her One Hundred Life Adventures list, since it had been dreamed up under extreme duress?

She turned her attention to the notes on her tablet, studying who owned the lands abutting the Black Creek Ranch. Cody McNeill’s father, Donovan, had divvied up some parcels for his three daughters and three sons, giving the McNeill family expansive holdings in all directions. Those adjacent properties had some similar features to the Black Creek, but none possessed the iconic old barn that Jillian’s boss had fallen in love with. Still, there had to be something Jillian could do. Carson McNeill, one of Cody’s brothers, owned a ranch next door. She typed his name into her tablet. And...bingo.

Carson, in direct contrast to his phantom sibling, had current social media profiles like the rest of the world. His posts were mostly updates about the ranching industry, but every now and then there was a photo of the man himself. These seemed to be posted mostly by other people, female people, but in light of the man’s rugged good looks that was no surprise.

In a word? Yum.

In Jillian’s brief time working in the film industry this past year, she’d run across all manner of handsome men. Carson McNeill was every bit as attractive as any A-list star she’d spotted, but his dusty boots, perpetual five o’clock shadow and generally mussed appearance lacked Hollywood polish. Which was a plus in her book. His dark hair, strikingly blue eyes and charming grin drew attention, no question.

One photo showed him lugging a keg off the back of a pickup truck in the middle of a golden hay field, a hay baler behind him, a handful of workers surrounding him. Another image pictured Carson at a local bar, long legs sprawled out, booted feet crossed, while he slouched in his chair and grinned at the women, plural, seated beside him. There was a photo posted by the local newspaper—a throwback shot—that showed a younger Carson riding a bucking bull in a competition ring, a crowd of cheering cowboys in the background. Jillian could swear the man was grinning even then, his body arced backward, poised to slam hard on the ground.

Surely this seemingly good-natured rancher could be persuaded to help her win over his brother? Pleased with the new discovery, she took another sip of her wine and leaned back in her seat again, allowing herself a moment to daydream while the music switched to a slow country ballad. As two-stepping couples took the floor and a blue neon moon dropped from the ceiling, Jillian thought through the possibilities. If she could secure Cody McNeill’s permission to film on his ranch, she would ensure future work from her boss. And since this film location manager was well-connected in the industry, she might pass along Jillian’s name to her friends as someone who could find key locations and had the cinematography sensibilities to know what a director was looking for.

That meant more work. New travel. Additional items crossed off her list. Even better, that meant more ways Jillian was kicking cancer’s ass. And that was what she wanted more than anything. Triumph over the thing that had scared her—almost—to death.

She stared out the window overlooking the street, preferring not to dwell on romance and two-stepping couples while remembering a period in her life that had been frighteningly loveless. Her boyfriend at the time had bailed right after her surgery to remove a tumor. He couldn’t deal with chemo, he’d said. Let alone the radiation.

That still got to her. He couldn’t deal with it. Like he was the one having to slog through that hell and not her.

Closing her eyes to banish the old demons, Jillian took a bracing breath. When she opened them again, she had to look twice.

Because she could have sworn that out there on the street, in the rainy Cheyenne night, she saw Carson McNeill. Instantly alert, she craned her neck to follow his progress up the sidewalk. Decidedly handsome from the rear, the guy looked to be the correct height and build. His worn-in jeans were a feast for the feminine eye. His boots and his Stetson were the wrong colors from what she’d seen online, but a man could own more than one hat, couldn’t he?

Jillian gathered up her tablet and maps and shoved them into her homemade cloth satchel. Finding a couple bills in her wallet, she tossed them on the table beside her barely touched wine. The server was getting one heck of a tip, since she couldn’t wait around for change.

After darting and weaving through the crowd toward the exit, she levered open the door and stepped out into the rain. Just in time to see the fawn-colored Stetson disappear into a building a block up the street. She hugged her bag to her chest, wishing she’d taken the time to slip into her sweater. Cheyenne was windy on a good day, and during a rainy night, the gusts took on a brutal chill. Especially for a woman who still chilled easily. Sometimes she thought the chemo drugs would never fully leave her body.

She reached the building where Carson McNeill had disappeared and saw it was another bar. Wrangler’s wasn’t nearly as busy as the Thirsty Cow, so when she stumbled inside, in a rush to escape the weather, the patrons seemed to notice.

All five of them.

Hank Williams was playing on the jukebox and the dude behind the bar, with a grizzled beard halfway down his chest, was no college student. The wiry old guy gave Jillian a nod and went back to pouring a beer for the only other woman in the place—a middle-aged lady dressed like a biker in a leather vest over her long-sleeved T-shirt.

Wrangler’s definitely wasn’t the sort of joint where Jillian envisioned smiley, social Carson McNeill hanging out. But there could be no mistaking a man that good-looking. He was seated in a corner booth, and he’d just laid his phone on the table, flicking on the screen with his thumb before scrolling.

Jillian didn’t realize she was staring until the bartender called over to her, “Have a seat anywhere you like.” He gestured with a sweep of his arm to the empty tables.

Feeling silly for having been caught gawking, Jillian scooted into a booth across from her quarry. He hadn’t glanced up at her since she’d first walked in and she wondered now how it would feel to have those intensely blue eyes on her. Which was peculiar, given that she’d lost all her mojo where men were concerned.

Part of that was her former boyfriend’s fault, since he gave men a bad name. But the majority of the blame belonged to her disease and the treatment that had left her feeling like a dried-out husk of a woman. She’d read the brochures on what to expect after dealing with her chemo and radiation, so she knew that feeling was normal enough, and as side effects went, it wasn’t the worst of them. After all, what did it matter if sex and men held no appeal when she was focused on her career and her recovery?

But right now, stealing glances at the tall, well-built cowboy two booths away, Jillian could almost forget she hadn’t experienced deep physical arousal in two years. Because the man was intriguing. He wore a blue T-shirt under his gray-and-white work flannel, and she found herself fascinated by the play of muscle beneath the cotton. The edge of his jaw, shadowed with bristle, made her wonder about the texture and feel of him.

Then, to cap off a night full of surprises, Carson McNeill glanced up from his phone and stared back at her. His blue eyes narrowed. A fierce, intensely male energy vibrated all around him. She felt the electric jolt from that single look on her skin, tingling its way over her arms beneath the featherweight sleeves of her blouse. Her breath hitched in her throat with a soft, startled gasp. She couldn’t seem to pull her eyes away.

A shiver traced its way down to the base of her spine. But this wasn’t the kind of shiver that came with a chill. This one brought an undeniable flare of heat.

Her throat suddenly parched, she couldn’t speak. Only this time, it wasn’t because she felt like a dried-out husk of a woman. As she stared at a man who could hold the key to her professional future in his hands, she realized that her long slumbering libido had finally made a comeback.

* * *

For a moment, Cody McNeill wondered whether the lovely redhead seated in the booth across the way had mistaken him for his twin.

His whole life, he’d witnessed women stare at Carson in just that manner—like he was the answer to all their fantasies. It was strange, really, since he and Carson were supposedly identical. To people who knew them, they couldn’t be more different. Even strangers could usually tell at a glance that Carson was the charmer and Cody was...not. It was in the way they carried themselves. The propensity to laugh. Carson’s easygoing, leave-it-to-tomorrow approach was a far cry from Cody’s belief that the buck stopped at his desk.

But somehow the redhead hadn’t quite figured it out yet. She had been watching him since she stepped through the door of Wrangler’s. The local dive suited him, since the food was good, the beer didn’t require a dedicated menu and he’d bought the building a month ago to remodel for a more centrally located ranch office. Tonight, Cody needed a retreat from his family—mostly his twin. They’d been at odds for weeks over the sudden appearance of their paternal grandfather, a rich-as-Croesus hotel magnate from New York who’d disinherited their father over twenty years ago. Carson wanted to make peace with the guy, while Cody had no use for someone who’d betrayed their dad. The arrival of Malcolm McNeill in Cheyenne was tearing their already fractured family apart, and Carson had to make things worse by inviting the old man to dinner at the main house on Creek Spill Ranch. Technically, the property belonged to their father, Donovan, even though Carson oversaw the daily operations.

That latest bit of disloyalty made Cody mad as hell. His twin was too busy having fun all the time to ever think about the consequences of his actions. Which, of course, was why Carson attracted the kind of wide-eyed attention the woman in the opposite booth was currently exhibiting. Carson said yes to every entertaining opportunity that came his way, whether or not it was the right thing to do. Normally, that ticked off Cody. But at this moment, with the vivid hazel eyes of an attractive female following Cody’s every move, he had to ask himself why he played it straight all the time instead of taking a page from his twin’s book. If Carson was here, he’d have the decidedly sexy stranger under his arm in no time.

Between the dark mood hovering over Cody and the realization that he wouldn’t mind stealing away one of his brother’s admirers, he did something he hadn’t done since he was a schoolkid.

He pretended to be his twin.

“Would you like some tips on what’s edible around here?” He tested out the words with a smile. The expression was as fake as the pickup line, but he’d seen similar patter work for his brother a hundred times.

Hell, he ended up sounding just like him.

The grin gave the words the right amount of easy irreverence.

But the petite beauty in the booth nearby appeared to be stunned silent. Although slight in stature, she had a powerful presence. From her warm, henna-colored hair to the vivid blues and greens of her butterfly-printed blouse, and turquoise cowboy boots that had never seen a day’s work, the woman stood out. She shone like a light in the darkened bar.

“Edible?” The word was a dry croak from her lips, a belated response to his question. Her cheeks flushed pink with hectic color.