His Enemy's Daughter

Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

One (#u5b66ceac-f706-54fa-8d40-4d5116ca917e)

It took everything Chloe Lawrence had to keep her winning smile locked into place.

“Miss,” the stock contractor said, taking off his hat and slicking his thin hair back before replacing the Stetson, “this isn’t how we did things back when your father was in charge.”

The first time some grizzled old coot had said that to her, she had been genuinely shocked. For all intents and purposes, Milt Lawrence hadn’t been in charge of the All-Around All-Stars Pro Rodeo since her brother Oliver had wrestled control of the family empire away from the older man four years ago. The All-Stars was one of the family’s many holdings, had been ever since her father had won the rodeo circuit in a poker game thirteen years ago.

Oliver had managed the rodeo from a distance while simultaneously running their main company, Lawrence Energies. Which meant that, on the ground, Chloe was the Lawrence the stock contractors had been dealing with.

“Mort,” she said, keeping her voice warm and friendly instead of angry. “This is just a slight change in who’s qualified to compete.”

Which was not necessarily the truth.

Allowing women to compete with the men was anything but slight. But it wasn’t like she was suggesting they cut calf-roping or anything.

Dale Jenkins, an older man with his stomach hanging over his belt buckle, stepped in front of Mort. “What Mort is trying to say,” he drawled, “is that of course we’re still interested in supplying the All-Stars with our stock. But you’re just the Princess of the Rodeo. You’re good at it, of course,” he added, as if that somehow made it better. “But...”

He aimed a big smile at her, one that Chloe recognized. But that just grated on her every nerve.

When she’d been younger and so excited to open and close every rodeo, Dale had given her that exact same smile and patted her on the head as if she were a puppy and told her that she looked “right pretty up on that horse.”

If he patted her on the head now, she might break his hand.

“Gentlemen,” she said, putting as much force as she could into the word. “There is no harm in trying something different. If it works, the All-Stars will gain viewers, fans and sales. When those three things combine, you know what that gets us?” She waved her hand to encompass Dale, Mort and the other cowboys paying attention. “More money. A rising tide lifts all boats.”

“Women ride barrels,” said a crusty old fart named Dustin Yardley. He stalked right into her personal space. “You’re asking us to be part and parcel of something we didn’t sign up for. The All-Stars is a men’s rodeo.” He gave her a look that was so mean she had to fight the urge to take a step back. She wouldn’t show fear before these men.

Of course, meanness was Dustin’s natural look, so it was hard for Chloe to tell if he was extra condescending today or not. “And we,” he went on, “are the men who make the rodeo work.”

Oh, that absolutely did it. She had heard some version of that speech in Des Moines, Kansas City, Shreveport, Memphis and, worst of all, in Fort Worth. Now she was hearing it in Sikeston, Missouri.

None of the stock contractors or riders or promoters had ever had an issue with her running the All-Stars when her brother Oliver or her father, Milt, were nominally in charge. All she’d had to do then was phrase her orders as coming from her family.

From a man.

But this year was different. At the beginning of the season, Oliver had ceded all control, real or imagined, to Chloe. He was way too busy to handle the All-Stars. He’d gone and fallen in love with Chloe’s oldest friend, Renee Preston—who came with a certain amount of scandal, what with her being pregnant with her dead husband’s child and the rest of her family under indictment for running a massive pyramid scheme.

And besides, Oliver hated the rodeo. Chloe still didn’t understand why. She loved it and she’d been pushing for more control over the All-Stars for years. It hadn’t been until Oliver had gone behind their father’s back to give her the television distribution negotiations that she’d been able to prove her skills.

And prove them, she had. She wasn’t just the Princess of the Rodeo. Not anymore.

Or so she’d thought.

This season should have been Chloe’s victory tour. Finally, the rodeo she’d loved since her father had won it was hers and hers alone. The TV deal was just the first step. She’d also launched her own line of couture cowgirl clothing named—what else?—Princess of the Rodeo and it was selling well. Sure, the workload was insane and yeah, she didn’t get much sleep anymore. But her brother had managed the rodeo while running a billion-dollar energy corporation. She could juggle some cowboys and clothing. She had to—this was just the beginning.

She had plans. Great plans.

Plans that required people to go along with them.

The one variable she hadn’t accounted for. Damned people.

She gritted her teeth. “Mister Yardley,” she said. She didn’t have time to stand around debating. She just needed them to nod and smile and say they’d be happy to try something new. “I’ll be sure to pass that sentiment along to your wife and two daughters, who delivered the agreed-upon calves to the Bootheel Rodeo last year—by themselves—while you were recovering from surgery. How’s the heart, by the way?” She did her best to look sweet and concerned.

Not that Yardley was buying it. His eyes narrowed as his lip curled. He was not a man who took kindly to having his authority questioned, especially not by someone who was just a princess. “Now you look here, missy,” he began, his cheeks darkening.

That’s when a male voice behind her said, “Problem?”

Inside, her heart sank.

If she had expected anyone to barge into this situation, it would have been her younger brother, Flash Lawrence. He was not only a Lawrence heir but also a cowboy who rode for the All-Stars. He was legendary for three things—his charm with the ladies, the chip on his shoulder and his short-fuse temper.

She’d had plenty of trouble in Omaha when, in the middle of a similar conversation with similar contractors, Flash had decided Chloe’s honor needed to be defended. It had taken all of her negotiating skills to get the police to drop the charges.

She would be so lucky if it was Flash who’d spoken. But today was not her lucky day.

Yardley smirked as he made eye contact with the man standing behind Chloe. The very last man she wanted to deal with. She would take a hundred Jenkinses and Yardleys and Gandys rather than deal with this one man.

“Pete Wellington,” Yardley said and Chloe didn’t miss the sudden warmth and good cheer in his voice. “What a surprise to see you here.”

He didn’t sound surprised. In fact, none of the men she’d been trying to reason with looked shocked that Pete Wellington had ventured from his East Texas ranch to drop by the All-Stars rodeo in Missouri.

Dammit.

“How’ve you been?” Mort asked, then he cut a glance at Chloe. “We’d love to see you at the rodeo again.”

Yeah, that wasn’t subtle. But before she could point out that Pete Wellington hadn’t had jack crap to do with the All-Stars in years, Dale spoke. “You here to compete?” he asked, beaming widely. “We sure do miss seeing a real professional in the arena.”

Lord, why didn’t they just roll out a red carpet and lick his boots clean? Chloe had to fight back a scream of frustration. She didn’t like it when people took pot shots at Flash, but the fact was he was a damned good rider. He’d earned that seventh-place world ranking on his own, no matter what anyone else thought.

“Now, gentlemen,” Pete said from behind her and she had to repress a shiver at the sound of his voice, deep and rich. “You know I retired from riding years ago.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t make a comeback. It’d be an improvement. A huge one.” Yardley started to step around her to shake Wellington’s hand, but Chloe wasn’t having any of it. Pete’s father, Davey Wellington, might have founded this rodeo, but he’d also lost it fair and square in a poker game to Chloe’s father, Milt.

She wasn’t going to let anyone cut her out of her rodeo. Especially not Pete Wellington.