 by Helen Hardt.jpg)
Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 58727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Miles Bridger would rather be home in New York than stuck on a Montana ranch with his newfound half brothers, thanks to his deadbeat dad’s will. Miles now works with bulls and hay bales instead of custom bikes. He keeps his sense of humor about the whole thing…until a dead body surfaces on the ranch and he and his brothers are thrown headfirst into a murder investigation.
Sadie Hopkins plays by the rules in her job as detective, so she’s only too happy to turn a little naughty during a bachelorette party dare. Heat flares between Sadie and the gorgeous blond man she approaches, but when a high-profile case crosses her desk the next day, she’s in for a surprise. The man from the bar is none other than Miles Bridger…and he’s a murder suspect.
Despite this revelation, Miles and Sadie’s chemistry sizzles. But the flawed Miles doesn’t do relationships, and Sadie’s past crashes into the present with a surprising discovery that could spell danger for both of them.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Prologue
MILES
* * *
“Decide to come up for air?” I smile when Austin and Carly finally grace us with their presence at the dinner table.
Carly’s cheeks are flushed pink, and Austin’s hair is a tousled mass of brown. Yeah, they both look just fucked. Make that just fucked on steroids. They’ve been in Austin’s room since he and Carly came back this morning.
“Actually, I was sleeping.” Carly blushes further.
Right.
“You don’t owe them any explanation.” Austin gives her a pussy-whipped smile.
“As you know,” she continues, “I didn’t get any sleep last night because I was tending to your colt.”
“Which we appreciate.” Chance reaches for the platter in the middle of the table. The dishes are set out family style in brown clay serving platters. Salsa, chopped onion and cilantro, seasoned rice, and black beans. “I didn’t see either of you come out for lunch so I assume you’re starving. Louisa made chicken flautas.”
“Who? Your cook?” Carly settles in with Chance on one side, Austin on the other.
I’m across from her.
“The housekeeper,” Chance corrects. “She keeps this entire place running.”
I introduced myself to the older woman when she placed my clean laundry on my bed. I’m not used to anyone taking care of me.
“Looks great.” Austin takes the platter from Chance. “I love Mexican food.”
“Yeah. Me too. The spicier the better.” The robust scent of chiles has my mouth watering. I grab my cold Mexican beer, squeeze the lime wedge into the bottle, and take a long drink. Good stuff.
I’m about to take the platter from Austin when the doorbell rings.
The housekeeper—Louisa—comes in a minute later. She’s in her late fifties with salt and pepper hair. She’s in jeans and a green top, and a gentle smile tugs at her mouth. “It’s Detective Peterson from the Bayfield sheriff’s office. He wants to speak to all three of you.”
Chance sets down his fork with a sigh. “In the middle of dinner?”
“Says it’s important.”
“I guess that’s my cue.” Austin rises and kisses Carly’s cheek as Louisa leaves the room. “Be right back, sweetheart.”
I have no choice but to follow my brothers out of the dining room and to the doorway, leaving my beer and grub behind. This isn’t wholly unexpected. A dead body was just found on our property, after all. But it’s dinnertime.
The detective is a few years older than we are. Solemn looking, with bloodshot gray eyes. He wears scuffed brown cowboy boots, dark denims, and a striped button down. He’s armed with a handgun strapped at his waist. I don’t recall seeing him as part of the crew dealing with retrieving the dead body.
“Hey, Mark,” Chance says.
He knows everyone in town. In comparison to his relationship with the mayor, Chance seems neutral toward the guy.
“Chance.” The man tips his head. “You two must be Austin and Miles.”
Austin holds out his hand. “Austin Bridger.”
“Detective Mark Peterson. I’m investigating the murder that took place on your land.”
“Murder?” I cock my head and withdraw the hand Peterson hasn’t yet shaken. “I didn’t realize it was official.”
“We’re still waiting on the autopsy,” Peterson says, “but we treat all dead bodies in situations like this as homicide until we can rule it out. That means the three of you—along with your deceased father—are prime suspects.”
“Suspects? Now wait a damned minute.” Austin closes the distance between himself and the detective. “Miles and I weren’t even in the state when that guy met his maker.”
“That has yet to be determined,” Peterson replies.
I didn’t see the body, but from what I heard from those who did, it had been in rough shape. He’d been there a while, stuck beneath the deep water of the creek until we broke up the dam and it receded.
“Doesn’t matter,” the detective continues. “As of right now, I’m ordering the three of you not to leave town until you hear otherwise. You need to be on hand for questioning. I hear you were in Seattle recently. Don’t leave again.”
Invisible insects bite at the back of my neck. Is this guy for real? “You’ve got a lot of nerve,” I say. “We were the ones out there breaking up that dam. Would we have done that if we knew we were going to unearth a guy we murdered? If not for us, he’d still be out there.”
“I’ve been doing this a long time.” Peterson sucks at his teeth and tucks a thumb into his belt. “I wouldn’t put anything past Jonathan Bridger’s progeny. I admit, learning he has two additional sons makes my job a lot easier. All I have to do is drive to this ranch to find the criminals.”
Yeah. He’s making it pretty fucking clear where this is going. I’m no small-town boy. I’m from New York, and I can smell a dirty cop a mile away. At least one who likes to cut corners and not follow the evidence.