How the Cowboy Was Won
Dedication
To Bill, my husband and best friend. Your kisses make my head hum.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
An Excerpt from The Christmas Key Chapter 1
About the Author
Also by Lori Wilde
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter 1
“Were I to fall in love, indeed, it would be a different thing; but I have never been in love; it is not my way, or my nature; and I do not think I ever shall.”
—Jane Austen, Emma
“A toast to the woman who made this marriage possible!” The blushing bride, Susan Peoples Fant, resplendent in a white Vera Wang wedding gown on this special evening in May, raised her champagne flute. “My dear friend and awesome real estate agent, Ember Alzate. If she hadn’t so stubbornly twisted my arm that Cupid was the place to find my dream home, I would not have found my dream husband!”
Enthusiastic applause erupted.
Across the horse barn turned cowboy wedding reception hall, Susan sent Ember a meaningful grin. “You really should consider matchmaking as a sideline career. You broker relationships as easily as houses.”
Ember gave a slight smile and tried not to look too proud of herself. While she did have a knack for hooking up other people, her own love life was a train wreck.
“Take a bow, Ember,” someone shouted.
Ember stood and raised her champagne flute, putting the focus of the toast where it belonged. “All I did was open the door. Susan and Bryant were the ones who weren’t afraid to walk through it. To the happy couple.”
“To the happy couple!” echoed the guests.
After the toasts were completed and the champagne downed, the band struck up Michael Bublé’s “Everything.” The first dance between the bride and groom. As Bryant waltzed Susan onto the dance floor, they had eyes for only each other.
Aww.
Ember’s heart swelled. She had done a great job. Maybe she should start a matchmaking business on the side. Real estate in podunk Cupid wasn’t exactly booming, especially in the high-end properties that were her specialty.
Hey, why not? Her bank account was whining that it was time to move back to San Antonio and pick up her old career.
Yeah, about that.
As big as San Antonio was, it wasn’t big enough for both Ember and her ex-husband.
She shuddered and decided she was not going to think about those three disastrous months where every single thing she’d done or said had embarrassed her social-climbing husband, Trey.
The final loose block pulled from their Jenga marriage came during a party their boss had thrown—she and Trey had both been real estate agents for the same company—and Ember had had a wee bit too much to drink. But with good reason. She’d been celebrating the closing of a twenty-million-dollar property to a famous Spurs basketball player, and she was flying high on the rush of achievement.
With her guard down, her passionate nature had come charging out, and she’d playfully yanked Trey into the wine cellar for an impulsive quickie. And they’d been caught by their boss, in flagrante, bent over a rack of Pinot Noir.
Mortifying? Oh for sure, but that wasn’t the worst part. That had happened on the car ride home.
“I’ve never been so humiliated in my life,” Trey fumed, and proceeded to berate her with vinegar and vim. “I should have known when we were dating that you were all wrong for me.”
Her lungs had felt like balloons filled to bursting, and if she took one more breath she would explode.
His tirade was a train, rolling right over her. “When we were dating, I put your loudness down to enthusiasm.”
Stunned, she’d just sat in the passenger seat, her mouth hanging open.
“But tonight has proven every reservation I’ve ever had about you.”
He’d had reservations about the marriage? Why hadn’t he said something? She’d had her own doubts that things had moved too quickly, but he’d seemed so sure that they would make a great team that she’d talked herself out of her cold feet.
“You’re too sexual.”
“But—”
“Too crude.”
“I—”
“Too reckless.”
“You—”
“Too headstrong.”
Yeah, okay, guilty as charged on that one.
“Too playful.”
What was wrong with being playful?
“Too everything. Face it, you’re just too much, Ember. I’ve tried to get you to stop wearing clothes that showed too much skin, to speak more softly and less often, to pay attention to how you come across to others, but it’s as if you haven’t heard a word I’ve said during our entire marriage.”
Of three months.
Right after their wedding, he’d asked her to wear dresses with longer hems and shirts with higher necklines, and pants cut more loosely. She’d done it to keep him happy. But he’d just criticized her more, slowly eroding her self-confidence to the point she started weighing each word that came out of her mouth, and that so wasn’t her.
“You’re hopeless.” He snorted.
She could have pointed out that he hadn’t protested when she’d pulled him into the wine cellar for sex, but she was too blindsided, absorbing every hateful word like a sucker punch.
“Don’t you even care what people think of you?” he asked.
“I . . . I . . .”
“Finally you’re speechless?” His tone sliced her to her core, a knife of words.
“I thought you liked that I was the life of the party.”
“In a date maybe, but a wife?” He shook his head. “It’s vulgar.”
“Trey, I didn’t think—”
“That’s just it. You never think.”
Her stomach felt as if it had gotten dropped in the spin cycle of a washing machine, churned and wrung out. “What can I do to make this right?”
He’d frowned, gripped the steering wheel tighter, and clenched his jaw. His face going cold and stony. “It’s too late for that. I want a divorce.”
Numb, Ember had sat in the passenger seat struggling to process what was happening.
Part of her, the real her, had wanted to yell, Projecting much, Trey? But she was still so shocked, she’d been unable to dredge up a rebuttal.
What had initially attracted her to him was his gung-ho nature. Most of their romance had come from trying to outdo each other selling real estate. It had been fun and exhilarating, the rush of competition, and they’d quickly become a power couple in San Antonio’s real estate market. What she hadn’t realized was that while he loved competing just as much as she did, he cared far more about what people thought of him. He was more of a status seeker, while Ember had been more about taking calculated risks and setting trends.
That’s what killed their short-lived marriage. Their clash of values.
He’d been terrified of looking bad in front of others, scared that he’d be judged and found lacking by his social group. Whereas E
mber didn’t give two figs what people thought about her.
Their brief marriage had ended eighteen months ago, but Trey’s cruel words still stung, hung in her psyche. She’d gotten the message loud and clear.
You’re unlovable the way you are.
If it had just been Trey’s opinion, she might not have taken the message to heart, but throughout her life she’d received some version of the same rhetoric. Bend, mold, toe the line if you want to be more pleasing to others.
As the only Alzate sibling who’d inherited their Irish mother’s wild red hair and sapphire blue eyes, she’d stood out among the four dark-haired, dark-eyed brother and sisters who favored their Native American father. She’d heard whispers from strangers when they saw her with the other children when her mother wasn’t around. Absorbed the speculations that she was adopted or illegitimate.
Her parents had tried to soften the blow, assuring her she was neither adopted nor illegitimate and that they loved her as much as they loved the other children, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was the odd child out. Throughout her life, from teachers, neighbors, and the guys she’d dated, she’d often been rejected, chastised, or ostracized for being too exuberant or impulsive, for pushing boundaries or speaking her mind.
Shh, girls shouldn’t be loud.
Don’t be so bossy.
If you want boys to like you, let them win.
Beyond her family, the only person who had ever accepted her unconditionally was her best friend in the whole wide world, Ranger Lockhart.
She and Ranger had grown up together on the Silver Feather Ranch. Ranger was the elder, born June 15, to Ember’s August 10 birthday. Ranger was the second son of wealthy Duke Lockhart, and Ember the oldest daughter of their ranch foreman, Armand Alzate. Even when she’d repeatedly gotten brainy, studious Ranger into trouble, he’d always been in her corner.
But when it came to the rest of the male species, Ember had learned she could either curtail her personality, essentially cutting off pieces of herself in order to be loved, or just be herself and lose the man.
Clearly, she was not the marrying kind.
And that was okay with her. It didn’t mean she couldn’t find joy in helping other people find their perfect matches. As for herself, she didn’t want or need that whole happily-ever-after, shiny-bling-wedding-ring thing. She could take lovers for sex, and she had Ranger for companionship. What more could she ask for?
Except Ranger had been in New Zealand for the past year, elbow deep in postdoctoral studies in astrobiology at the University of Canterbury, and she missed him terribly. It was almost as if she’d lost a limb.
They stayed in contact for sure, but lately he’d been finishing up his research, and his texts and phone calls had grown fewer and farther between. She hadn’t heard from him in almost a month. It was the longest they’d ever gone without being in contact.
Out on the dance floor, the music changed. Susan danced with her father under white twinkle lights strung from the rustic rafters.
The reception was being held at the Silver Feather Ranch, where Ember’s younger sister Kaia lived with Ranger’s older brother, Ridge, and their new baby daughter, Ingrid.
The Silver Feather had a chapel and reception barn they rented out for country-style weddings. Ember’s youngest sister, Aria, worked as a wedding planner. While her older brother, Archer, was the Silver Feather’s ranch foreman, following in their father’s footsteps. The Silver Feather was a family affair for both the Alzates and the Lockharts.
Honestly, it could get claustrophobic being around people who knew her so well. Which was why Ember lived in the artsy community of Marfa, twenty miles down the road from Cupid.
“May I have this dance?” a smooth male voice asked.
She glanced over to see Palmer Douglas, a dashing photographer from Alpine, who gave off a Zac Efron vibe. He’d been hired to record Susan and Bryant’s wedding. At twenty-seven, Palmer was five years younger than Ember, overly handsome, and sexy as hell with straight white teeth and a lightbulb smile. But he was a bit shallow, something of a party hound, and had serious aspirations of leaving the Trans-Pecos in his rearview mirror.
Not that she was the least bit interested in him, but his attention was an ego booster.
“Thanks, Palmer,” she said. “But I’m sitting this one out.”
“C’mon,” he coaxed, holding out a hand. “You know you want to let your hair down and cut loose.” He lowered his lashes. “I’ve seen you at Chantilly’s whooping it up. You’ve got some serious moves, girl.”
She did love to dance. Idly, she toyed with the idea of accepting his invitation, but she didn’t want to encourage him. “Not in the mood. Why don’t you ask Tara?” she said, referring to her sister, who was sitting with a group of older couples on the other side of the room.
“Tara’s nice and all,” Palmer said, splaying a palm on his nape. “But she doesn’t have your spunk.”
“She’s a better dancer than I am,” Ember corrected.
“I wasn’t talking about your dancing skills.” Palmer’s voice took on a suggestive quality.
“Get out of here, kid.” She waved him away with a laugh. “You’re too young for me.”
“Five years is not that big of an age difference, and I’ve been told women reach their sexual peak in their midthirties while men peak in their twenties—”
“Oh honey, don’t even start. I’d make mincemeat of you. If I was going to take a lover, which I’m not, I’d pick a man not a boy. Now shoo.” She waved him away.
Palmer grinned and shrugged impishly. “Can’t blame a guy for trying. You were sitting over here looking so hot and sexy, I just had to take a shot.”
“Buzz off, little bee.” She kept waving him away.
Palmer had no sooner glided over to the next table in search of a dance partner than Ember felt a tap on her shoulder. She looked up to see Zeke Tremont, a ranch hand on the Silver Feather.
Zeke was salt of the earth—loyal, kindhearted, and hardworking. Unfortunately, the lanky cowboy had two strikes against him. While his butt looked fantastic in a pair of jeans, he was rather plain, with clay-colored hair and weathered skin. And at thirty-one, he’d already been married three times.
Poor Zeke had the old-fashioned notion that he should get married before having sex, and he had a tendency to fall hard and fast for the wrong sort of woman. Women had happily taken advantage of his sweet nature to get their hands on the million dollars he’d won in the Texas lottery when he was eighteen. The women, and the money, were long gone, but Zeke owned his own home, free and clear, and he was good with kids and animals. Not a bad catch for the right woman.
The matchmaker in her started thinking about the single women she knew who would overlook Zeke’s homeliness in favor of his winsome personality and gentle nature.
“Wa . . . wa . . . would you dance with me, Ember?” Zeke stammered, and she could tell it had taken an effort for him to work up the courage to come over.
She took pity on him, smiled, and took his hand. He followed her onto the dance floor like a well-trained puppy.
“Hey,” Palmer said, two-stepping next to them on the dance floor with a peppy blonde on his arm. “You said you weren’t in the mood.”
“Zeke changed my mind.” Ember laughed, and led her partner in time to the “Cotton-Eyed Joe.”
When the song was over, Zeke escorted her back to her seat and asked if he could bring her a cold drink.
“Thanks for the offer, Zeke,” she said, not wanting to risk him getting the wrong idea. “But I’m good. Thank you for the dance.”
He bobbed his head and scooted off, leaving Ember feeling a little lonely. Loneliness was not a good reason to date someone. That’s how she’d gotten mixed up with Trey. She’d been lonely in the big city, and he’d showered her with compliments and grand gestures and well, she’d succumbed. Being lonely alone was far better than being lonely in a relationship.
“Psst, Miss
Alzate,” a loud whisper came from behind her. It was a woman’s voice this time. “Can I talk to you?”
Since there were three Alzate sisters attending the wedding, Ember wasn’t completely certain that she was the one being hissed at.
She swiveled her head and spied a ginger-haired young woman in her early twenties. Ember’s own hair was more Irish setter red, whereas this girl’s hair was several shades more orange.
There weren’t too many gingers in the Trans-Pecos, so most of them knew each other. This moppet was Chriss Anne Gossett, great-granddaughter of Millie Greenwood, one of Cupid’s early settlers. Chriss Anne wasn’t terribly sophisticated, but she was sweet as cherry pie and inordinately cheerful.
“Hi, Chriss Anne.” Ember patted the bottom of an empty chair beside her. “Have a seat.”
“Is it okay?” Chriss Anne glanced around furtively. “You don’t have a date?”
“Nope.”
Chriss Anne slid into the chair. “I feel so close to you.”
“That’s because you are.”
“Huh?” Chriss Anne blinked.
“You’re sitting right next to me.”
“No.” Chriss Anne giggled. “I mean ’cause we’re both gingers.”
“We’re practically twins,” Ember quipped.
“Oh no.” Chriss Anne shook her head and her eyes widened. “You’re like . . . old.”
Ouch. Although, she supposed when she was in her early twenties she viewed thirty-two as AARP eligible.
Chriss Anne cringed, lifting her shoulders up to her ears. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I just meant . . . well . . . that you know stuff.”
“Is that so?”
“And you’re smart and brave and different than most folks around here.”
Okay, Chriss Anne was fast making up for the “old” comment. “Are you working around to something?”
“Mmm.” Chriss Anne scratched her head. “You see, I heard you needed an assistant to help with the Chamber of Commerce movie you’re directing.”
Not a movie really. Rather a short film intended to promote tourism, centered around the history of Cupid and the role the Camel Corps played in settling the Trans-Pecos. Ember was directing for free because she cared about her community, believed in the project, and quite honestly there wasn’t enough real estate inventory to keep her busy at the moment, and Ember didn’t do well when she had time on her hands.