Cassandra Wilcox could take on the world. She had to. Everything she'd ever loved was gone. And now, thanks to her stepfather, her house and family business would be taken from her too. Unless, she came up with something quick. Desperate, she was running out of options and apparently common sense. Returning home for Dalton Kincade was bittersweet. Not a damn thing had changed. Everywhere he turned reminded him of the reason he’d left in the first place. Even years on the rodeo circuit hadn’t been able to shake free the memory of the feisty red head who’d broken his heart into a thousand pieces. Nor the sting of her parting words…Never trust a Kincade. The last thing Dalton wanted was to ever see Cassie again, much less rent a room from the house he now owned. As far as winning her beloved ranch in a drunken bet? Maybe she’d been right after all.
Betting On Kincade Excerpt
“Are you going to play or just sit there?” Gary Evans slurred in drunken angst as he kicked back his chair and leaned over the table. Not waiting for a reply, he picked up the crisp piece of paper lodged between them, waved it in the air, and then, slammed the deed to the Wilcox land back down on the hard pressed wood. Cautiously, Dalton stationed a deadly stare on the intoxicated fool and noted the shimmering of glee highlighting the steel gray of the man’s eyes. Tapping the top card, he slowly trailed his finger along the swirled red print. He was a loser no matter the outcome. Should’ve just walked away. Ignored Gary’s foolish bet and the taunts that followed once the hook had been set. It wasn’t as if Cassie would appreciate his effort anyway. Regardless, he couldn’t walk away and let her lose it all. Clenching his jaw, he folded his fingers around the squared edges and paused before picking up the pile. “Read ‘em and weep,” Gary squealed gleefully as he tossed his cards next to the deed. “Four deuces.” He stumbled from the end of the table, closing the gap between them in one stride, before managing to shove a quadruple of stubby digits in front of Dalton’s face. “Four.” Dalton studied his hand with guarded fury, then stifled the drunkard’s premature victory with a flick of his wrist.