Page 1 of Tempting Wyatt (Triple Creek Ranch #1)
Triple Creek Ranch
Paradise Valley, Montana
JACK LOGAN DIDN’T NEED AN ALARM to wake him up anymore. Something his wife of almost thirty-five years was grateful for. A third generation rancher, his internal alarm clock shoved him out of bed well before dawn.
It was the middle of calving season, and he had several heifers he needed to check on by sunrise. With the Montana winter temperatures as low as they were, he’d have to make sure all the calves were born in the heated barn, or they’d freeze to death.
Filling his thermos with black coffee, he remembered the fence around the bull pasture had some areas that looked like they’d been tampered with. He’d meant to check them the day before, but he’d run out of daylight.
He decided to drive the old ranch truck out there and see if there were tool marks, then make his way to the barn. He was worried about not getting to the calves quickly enough, but Lord knew they couldn’t afford to lose any bulls.
He radioed his ranch foreman, Antonio, who’d taken the night shift in the barn with the expectant heifers, to let him know he’d be there to relieve him soon. He told him about the fence in the bull pasture over the radio, then headed to his truck.
Seemed there were never enough hours in the day for all the work that needed to be done. But he loved this life and wouldn’t trade it for anything.
At fifty-six years old, he’d been working his family’s ranch since he was just a boy.
Now, he had a family of his own working it.
Four sons, two daughters, and his beautiful wife, Laurel.
Triple Creek Ranch was their legacy, and he took pride and comfort in knowing the eighteen-thousand-acre cattle and quarter-horse ranch would live on and provide for his family for many generations to come.
But things were changing. No sense in denying it. Most of the neighboring ranches had sold out to land developers. The old Richardson ranch was already being transformed into a luxury spa and golf resort.
He and Jimmy Peterson were the last holdouts.
He hadn’t told the kids or his wife yet, but he suspected the virus half his herd had come down with last season was an unwelcome gift from the investors who’d made aggressive offers for his land around the same time.
He also thought the vultures that had descended on his sons with promises of paying off the ranch’s debt were sent courtesy of the most recent ambitious billionaire who’d made the highest bid for the land.
He was still contemplating these possibilities when he arrived at the bull pasture on the northeast section of his property. His warm breath was visible in the icy Montana morning air as he climbed out of his truck.
His mind being elsewhere kept him from noticing the two hooded figures near the back gate.
Or that one of them was holding an illegally high-voltage cattle prod that would short-circuit his pacemaker.
The other had a syringe tucked into the sleeve of his jacket and slipped it into his hand as Jack approached.
The moment Jack spotted them, he wished he’d brought his horse, Lucifer—the mean one—instead of his truck. The massive beast would’ve trampled these two cattle thieves without a second thought.
Jack placed his hands up, told them they could talk about this.
To which one of them replied, “We already tried that.” A statement that, in Jack’s mind, confirmed his suspicions about who was behind his unwelcome visitors.
In the end, his attackers having been able to utilize the element of surprise and subdue him quickly—he wasn’t able to put up much of a struggle. The one comfort he was offered, he died with his eyes on the Montana sky just as the sun came up over his favorite mountain range.