Regret at Roosevelt Ranch Page 14

  And for once, he didn’t tease her or argue or delay.

  He slid the ring on and kissed her until they missed the sunset all together and the sky was dark.

  Then he kissed her again as the stars shone brightly in the sky.

  Epilogue

  Rex

  He drove down the dark road, trying to figure out why he was still in Darlington, Utah almost two months after he’d deposited Bella back with her one true love, Henry.

  Barf.

  Love was for idiots.

  Or pussies.

  Or people who were insanely, sickeningly happy.

  Ugh.

  Rex was jealous. He knew it. He embraced it.

  But that didn’t change the fact he wasn’t the kind of person who fell in love. Or rather, he didn’t allow himself to fall in love. He’d seen the way his father had loved his mother—a touching Hollywood scene if there ever was one, filled with so much devotion and affection that when she’d died, he’d changed.

  Part of him had died, too.

  And so Rex and Justin had lost both parents.

  That was the troubling part of so-called happily ever afters.

  They never lasted.

  Rex sighed because the real casualties in those failed or aborted happy endings were the kids. They suffered. They lost it all. They—

  “Fuck!” he said and swerved, almost clipping the car pulled barely on the shoulder.

  No hazard lights flashing. No flares. Nothing but a dark shape silhouetted against the moonlight. Were they trying to get themselves killed?

  He slowed and turned around, heading back to the parked car.

  His tirade about responsibility was on the tip of his tongue and—ha—if anyone even knew that he’d thought the word responsibility, they would have keeled over and dropped dead.

  Responsibility and Rex Roosevelt did not belong in the same sentence.

  He was the screw-up.

  He was the bad guy.

  He was pulling over behind the car.

  Rex parked behind them and turned on his hazard lights before getting out. He’d extended a hand to knock when he saw the woman inside. Spot-lit by his car’s headlights, she looked like an angel with pale blonde hair and delicate features.

  Or at least from the glimpse he caught, they seemed delicate.

  He only caught hints of a pert nose, plump lips, and a petite chin because she was spending a lot of time banging her face against the steering wheel.

  Rex hesitated and almost turned away, leaving her to whatever sort of mental breakdown she was determined to have, but just as he’d taken a step back toward his car, his conscience pinged.

  The annoying bastard had been all too busy lately.

  He sighed but knew he couldn’t leave her, and so he blew out a breath, raised his hand, and knocked on the window.

  The woman inside jumped.

  Her gaze shot to his for one long moment before her eyes slid closed, head dropping down to the steering wheel.

  But Rex barely noticed.

  Because one look from her, and he’d felt like he’d been struck over the head by a two-by-four.

  Or maybe hit in the ass by Cupid’s arrow.

  She was . . . different . . . wonderful . . .

  And he wanted her.

  —Preorder Desire at Roosevelt Ranch at books2read.com/DesireARR, coming November 3rd

  Did you miss any of the other Roosevelt Ranch books? Check out excerpts from the series below or find the full series here: amazon.com/gp/product/B07Q8VRK9Y

  DISASTER AT ROOSEVELT RANCH

  Book One

  (books2read.com/DARR)

  I had never thought of a plus sign as a bad thing.

  Of course, I’d never had one show up on a stick I’d peed on. Kudos to me, that changed today.

  My knees wobbled, and the idiotic white piece of plastic rattled as I set it on the scarred Formica countertop.

  Brown eyes—mine—stared back at me accusingly in the mirror. “You’ve done it now.”

  A baby.

  My hand found my stomach. Still flat, still the same.

  Even though so much had changed.

  The bathroom door rattled as a fist slammed against the thin plank of wood. “Move it, Kel! Food’s up and your tables are restless.”

  “Coming!” I called as I wrapped the test in a paper towel before shoving it deep into my purse.

  I couldn’t leave it here. Not where anyone—where Henry—might see it. He would get his back up, storm out to the ranch where he-who-must-not-be-named lived, and drag the no-good, low down piece of crap into town for a proper whooping.

  And I might just want to let him.

  With a sigh, I washed my hands and left the bathroom.

  It was my own fault. I knew the type of man Rex was.

  I’d fallen into his bed anyway.

  “Regret never fails to burn like a mother,” I muttered as I swept into the kitchen, grabbed the plates from the pass, and started hustling toward my table.

  “What was that?” Henry asked as he flipped a burger.

  “Nothing.” I hefted the tray filled with six plates and various food accessories—ketchup, extra dressing, and napkins—with practiced ease.

  Oh, God. I was going to be huge and pregnant and . . . waiting tables.

  Good luck to the customers, because I lacked the sincerity and cheerfulness that seemed to come naturally to most waitresses on a normal day. I could only imagine what was going to happen when my hormones raged.

  Using my back, I pushed through the swinging door and promptly stumbled to a stop.

  He was here. Rex was here.

  Stupidly, my heart raced. He’d changed his mind. He’d—

  The man’s eyes flicked to mine, completely unrecognizing and indifferent. My momentary burst of hope disintegrated.

  He was going to pretend not to know me? To not recognize me?

  The jerk! The rotten—

  Except . . . there was something off about him. I squinted, trying to discern the change, but the tray was taking its toll on my arms. I tore my gaze away from Rex to practically hurl the dishes at my customers.

  “Anything else?” I asked, and was thankful when there weren’t any requests.

  Two seconds later, I was in front of Rex.

  Who wasn’t actually Rex.

  Oh, he was the right height and had the same square jaw and the same gorgeous, sun-kissed skin, but this man wasn’t the one I’d slept with.

  “Hi,” he said, his green eyes warm. They were a brilliant emerald and just as inviting as they’d been in the picture I’d seen on Rex’s desk. “Can I just sit anywhere?”

  My nod was jerky. “I’ll get you a menu.”

  Fingers brushed my arm—calloused fingers that felt both familiar and different.

  “You okay?”

  I forced a smile, my stomach churning. This could not be happening. “Just perfect—”

  And that was the moment I puked all over Rex’s twin’s shoes.

  —Get your copy books2read.com/DARR.

  HEARTBREAK AT ROOSEVELT RANCH

  Book Two

  (books2read.com/HARR)

  I straightened from putting the last plate into the dishwasher and stretched for a towel to wipe my hands. I was exhausted after twenty-four straight hours with the kids, and Rob still wasn’t home. Not to mention, I needed to make cupcakes for Max’s school—and somehow do it without sugar.

  So the ensuing crash upstairs was not welcome.

  Dropping the towel, I whisper-sprinted up to the second floor—running on tiptoes while hopping, leaping, and skipping over every toy obstacle, creaky floorboard, and rogue crayon along the way.

  The light was on in Max’s room, and considering that I had made this trek a half dozen times in the last hour, I was out of patience.

  “You need to go to sleep,” I growled, throwing open the door, my fierce mom glare already in place.

  Except the devil child was asleep.
<
br />   He’d fallen out of bed, crashed onto an entire village of Legos—scattering them to hell and back—and was dead asleep.

  My heart gave a little squeeze even as the logical part of me recognized the giant mess I’d be picking up tomorrow.

  It was just that face.

  A cupid’s bow of bright pink lips, slightly parted, rosy cheeks, and mussed hair. The boy was cute, and it was hard to believe he was part of me, that he’d come from my body.

  I clucked my tongue at myself, knowing I was being ridiculous and romantic and Melissa-like because I’d spent the day with Kelly and her toddler, Abby.

  My baby sister had a baby. And a man. And was all grown up—

  Oh God. There I went with the tears again.

  Swiping a finger under each eye, I navigated the minefield of toys as I made my way over to Max. I gave an internal grunt as I lifted the little—or not so little, anymore—monkey and tucked him back into bed.

  One hastily constructed barrier of pillows and blankets and stuffed Minecraft toys later, and I was heading back out of the room.

  I flicked the light off, started to leave—

  “Too dark, Mommy,” he murmured.

  A sigh. Back on it went. “Good night, sweetheart.”

  “Night.”

  This time I made it to the top of the stairs before a sound stopped me.

  It wasn’t the kids. No. This was more like . . . buzzing?

  I cocked my head and listened, then made my way to my bedroom, a growing pile of toys in my arms as I went.

  The door was open, and I walked inside, dumping the pile on the coverlet before stopping to pinpoint the sound.

  I felt my pockets for my cell. Not even two days before, I’d scoured the house for my phone, it somehow having fallen out of my pocket, ending up under the dresser. It had taken darn near fifty calls and a search of the entire house before I’d found it.

  Those locating apps were all well and good, but they couldn’t tell a person which room in a house their phone was. Which meant the app, for my day-to-day exploits, was pretty much useless.

  I hardly left home at all except for the kids’ activities and school pickup or drop off.

  Or if Rob needed something down at the station.

  And that was fine. My place was at home. The kids needed me, Rob needed me. It was just that sometimes . . .

  No. Don’t get sidetracked.

  My phone was in my pocket. The sound wasn’t coming from beneath the dresser.

  It was coming from the bed.

  I peered under, saw nothing, and I was reaching for Rob’s flashlight in his nightstand when I realized where exactly the noise was originating from.

  My hand slid between the mattress and box spring, jumping a little when the object buzzed against my fingers.

  “What—?” I pulled it out, saw it was an older-looking iPhone. Why was there—

  Then I saw the texts. An entire screen worth of them.

  And my heart froze solid.

  I’m heading to the hotel.

  Where are you?

  Don’t keep me waiting, honey.

  I need you.

  The question wasn’t why Rob had hidden a phone under his side of the mattress. It was why someone named Celeste was calling him honey and telling my husband that she needed him.

  Downstairs, I heard the garage door rumble open and close, the clink of Rob’s keys on the kitchen counter. “Miss?” he called softly up the stairs.

  My voice was gone, my throat tight. My eyes burned, and still, I held the phone. It wasn’t until I heard him walking down the hall to the bedroom that I sprang into motion.

  I shoved the phone back under the mattress and scooped up the toys.

  Rob stopped short in the doorway. “Oh.” He smiled. “I called you.”

  “Sorry, I was cleaning.”

  He touched my cheek, slid past me. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “It’s my job,” I said brightly, and if it was too bright then what did it matter anyway?

  My husband was moving toward the bathroom, already unbuttoning his shirt. “Is there a plate for me?”

  I turned, saw he’d paused, and forced a smile. “Yup. I’ll heat it up for you.”

  “Thanks, love.”

  “Of course.” I walked out of the bedroom but didn’t go downstairs.

  Instead, I hesitated in the hall, silent and waiting.

  And my gut tied itself into knots when I heard Rob’s footfalls across the carpet, the slide of his hand beneath the mattress as he pulled out the phone.

  —Get your copy at books2read.com/HARR.

  COLLISION AT ROOSEVELT RANCH

  Book Three

  (books2read.com/CARR)

  Haley

  “Just play already,” Haley muttered, fumbling with her phone. She’d stopped at an intersection on her way home from the hospital, and she just wanted to boy band love, okay?

  Exhaustion tugged at her brain, her eyes burned, and her shoulders ached. She was also very close to tears.

  She’d lost a patient that night.

  It hadn’t been her fault. It hadn’t been anyone’s fault. Sometimes those things just happened—accidents, everyone working frantically to pull someone back from the brink, a body failing—but that didn’t make losing a patient any easier.

  Her job was to save them.

  Life was such a fragile thing. As a nurse, she knew that firsthand. But she’d also left her job at the busy county hospital in California and returned home to Darlington, Utah because she was tired of seeing people die every day.

  Haley was damned good at compartmentalizing, but sometimes things weren’t so easy to shove down.

  Sometimes those fuckers kept popping back up.

  Sometimes the cases hit too close to home—

  A horn beeped behind her and she jumped. “Shit.” Her phone still not cooperating, the poppy upbeat notes of her favorite boy bands remained silently trapped inside the technological device that never seemed to work correctly.

  Even though it was brand spanking new.

  Even though she’d gotten a complete tutorial from her brother-in-law, who had gone through all the troubleshooting with her.

  Even though the freaking tech from the phone store had personally tested the Bluetooth by coming out to her car and showing her how it worked.

  Technology. She repelled it.

  Or rather, she was technology’s kryptonite.

  Two minutes around her, and she destroyed even the most powerful device.

  “Yay me,” she murmured, dropping the phone to her passenger’s seat. Haley shouldn’t be fussing with it anyway, not while she was driving, but—a sigh—she’d really wanted to escape for the rest of her drive.

  Not to be.

  Checking for traffic, she pulled carefully through the intersection. Darlington was a small town, and signals were few and far between, but the roads at this time of the night were dark . . . and she’d had a deer jump right in front of her car once before.

  The car that had honked at her turned to follow her down the bumpy lane, headlights very bright in her rearview mirror, the front bumper just inside that bubble all drivers had.

  This one triggered her slightly-too-close alert but not the this-fucker-better-back-off alarm.

  Her lips curved.

  So, she might have gotten used to the more aggressive drivers of Northern California.

  The thought of her first months in San Francisco, of the busy roads, the huge buildings, the patient care that both challenged and devastated her, brought a smile to her face. For all the reasons she’d come home, Haley was still happy she’d left Utah.

  Small town life was . . . well, small.

  Or it had seemed that way before she’d left.

  Now she saw how much her world had expanded by being . . . well, herself. Having found herself, as cliché as that sounded.

  She’d left a little girl, never feeling like she could measure up, and had returned—<
br />
  Still feeling like she would never live up to her expectations. Ha. That was life for a girl. But Haley had come back with the understanding that she was the one setting impossible standards. Progress, yes? And she was a work in progress.

  Step one was realizing that not everything she did had to be perfect and exacting.

  Which was all well and good for her Pinterest attempts—cough—fails.

  It didn’t work as well for her patients.

  Hence the mental punch fest happening in her brain alongside the driving need for cheesy pop music to provide her with some escapism.

  Had she done everything right? What had she missed? What could she have done differently? Would any of it had made any difference?

  No.

  No, it wouldn’t have.

  Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them away.

  If Haley hadn’t blinked at that moment, things might not have turned out as they did.

  But she did blink, right as two other things happened simultaneously.

  Music exploded through her speakers—the Backstreet Boys singing about the way they wanted it—and a deer jumped into the road.

  By the time her lids had flashed back open, the jar of pop-tastic noise accelerating the process to near inhuman speed, the flipping deer was directly in front of her bumper and definitely within her bubble.

  Frankly, it was firmly in the she-was-gonna-plow-it-down-and-make-a-deer-pancake zone.

  “Fuck!” She slammed on her brakes.

  Tires screeched. She braced for impact and then . . .

  The deer executed a leap that was fitting of a figure skater and jumped clear of her car.

  Haley sighed in relief. For a single heartbeat.

  Because that relief disappeared before the next.

  Her body was propelled forward as the driver who had been—and here came that damned bubble analogy again—following her too closely before, plowed into her from behind.