Linda Lael - McKettrick's Luck

A classic tale of a new generation of cowboys staking claims to their land—and the women they love…

Like his celebrated ancestors, who tamed the wilds of Arizona, Jesse McKettrick’s Indian Rock ties run deep. The Triple M Ranch is in his blood, along with the thrill of risk. But with his land at stake, this world-class poker player won’t be dealt into Cheyenne Bridges’s gamble—despite the temptation she brings.

Cheyenne grew up in Indian Rock and left its painful memories behind to become a self-made woman. Now her job is to convince Jesse to sell his property. Jesse’s not the kind of man Cheyenne could ever forget, but he’s too wild and dangerous for a woman committed to playing it safe. Yet sparks of attraction fly, tempting Cheyenne to lay it all on the line for the passion she sees in Jesse’s eyes.

Praise for the novels of #1 New York Times and

USA TODAY bestselling author Linda Lael Miller

“Miller is one of the finest American writers

in the genre.”

—RT Book Reviews

“A fine conclusion to Miller’s latest trilogy. Animal lovers will enjoy the creatures that make up a delightfully integral part of the story.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Creed Legacy

“Only Linda Lael Miller can write the kind of romance that melts your heart and makes you want to shout Yippee ki-yay!”

—Single Titles on Creed’s Honor

“Miller excels at creating extended-family dynamics

in an authentic Western small-town setting

and richly populating her stories with animal

as well as human characters.”

—Booklist

“Ms. Miller’s characters and their intense emotions

are what make McKettrick’s Luck such a winner.”

—Single Titles on McKettrick’s Luck

“Miller’s ability to bring a cast of characters to life

is on full display here…. The veteran romance author doesn’t disappoint in her sizzling love scenes

and fine sense of place.”

—Publishers Weekly on McKettrick’s Luck

“A true winner, McKettrick’s Luck takes the pot!”

—A Romance Review

McKettrick’s Luck

Linda Lael Miller

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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My Dear Readers,

Welcome back to the Triple M ranch! McKettrick’s Luck is the first of three books starring the modern McKettrick men, Jesse, Keegan and Rance, and the intrepid women who love them. I’m so delighted these cowboys are back in print. Be sure to look for Rance’s story in McKettrick’s Pride, coming in March from HQN Books, followed by Keegan’s story, McKettrick’s Heart, in May.

Jesse McKettrick is Indian Rock, Arizona’s bad boy—a poker-playing, heart-breaking horseman who happens to be a kink in Cheyenne Bridges’s plans to buy and develop a piece of prime land. Cheyenne has a history with Jesse—she’s loved him since her teens. He, on the other hand, barely knew she was alive. Trouble in Indian Rock!

With love,

To Pam and Jon Reily, with love

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

MCKETTRICK LAND, Cheyenne Bridges thought stoically, as she stood next to her rented car on a gravel pullout alongside the highway, one hand shading her eyes from the Arizona sun. A faint drumbeat throbbed in her ears, an underground river flowing beneath her pulse, and she remembered a time she could not have remembered. An era when only the Great Spirit could lay claim to the valleys and canyons and mesas, to the arch of the sky, blue as her grandmother’s favorite sugar bowl—a cherished premium plucked from some long-ago flour sack—to the red dirt and the scattered stands of white oak and Joshua and ponderosa pine.

It had taken Angus McKettrick, and other intrepidly arrogant nineteenth-century pioneers like him, to fence in these thousands of square miles, to pen their signatures to deeds, to run cattle and dig wells and wrest a living from the rocky, thistle-strewn soil. Old Angus had passed that audacious sense of ownership on to his sons, and the sons of their sons, down through the generations.

McKettricks forever and ever, amen.

Cheyenne bit her lower lip. Her cell phone, lying on the passenger seat of the car, chimed like an arriving elevator—Nigel again. She ignored the insistent sound until it stopped, only too aware that the reprieve would be fleeting. Meanwhile, the land itself seemed to seep into her heart, rising like water finding its level in some dank, forgotten cistern.

The feeling was bittersweet, a complex tangle of loneliness and homecoming and myriad other emotions she couldn’t readily identify.

She had sworn never to come back to this place.

Never to set eyes on Jesse McKettrick again.

And fate, in its inimitable way, was forcing her to do both those things.

She sighed.

An old blue pickup passed on the road, horn honking in exuberant greeting. A trail of cheerfully mournful country music thrummed in its wake, and the peeling sticker on the rear bumper read Save The Cowboys.

Cheyenne waved, self-conscious in her trim black designer suit and high heels. This was boots-and-jeans country, and she’d stand out like the proverbial sore thumb the moment she drove into town.

Welcome home, she thought ruefully.

The cell chirped again, and she picked her way through the loose gravel to reach in through the open window and grabbed it.

“It’s about time you answered,” Nigel Meerland snapped before she could draw a breath to say hello. “I was beginning to think you’d fallen into some manhole.”

“There aren’t any manholes in Indian Rock,” Cheyenne replied, making her way around to the driver’s side and opening the door.

“Have you contacted him yet?” Nigel didn’t bother with niceties like “Hi, how are you?” either in person or over the telephone. He simply demanded what he wanted—and most of the time, he got it.

“Nigel,” Cheyenne said evenly, “I just got here. So, no, I have not contacted him.” Him was Jesse McKettrick. The last person in this or any other universe she wanted to see—not that Jesse would be able to place her in the long line of adoring women strung out behind him like the cars of a derailed freight train.

“Well, you’re burning daylight, kiddo,” Nigel shot back. Her boss was in his late thirties and English, but he liked using colorful terms, with a liberal smattering of clichés. Westernisms, he called them. “Let’s get this show on the road. I don’t have to tell you how anxious our investors are to get that condo development underway.”

No, Cheyenne thought, sitting down sideways on the car seat, constrained by her tight skirt and swinging her legs in under the steering wheel, you don’t have to tell me. I’ve heard nothing else for the last six months.