Page 1 of The Earl’s Wrangler (Cowboy Nobility #3)

“I TAKE it you’re back in England,” Randall Whealton, Earl of Plymouth, said as he settled into his favorite leather chair at the club in London. “I don’t understand how you can spend so much time out in the wilds.”

He didn’t come to the club as often as he would have liked.

His father had been a member, as had his grandfather before him.

It was something members of his family did, and Randall actually liked it.

Yes, the place was stodgy and slow to change, but in a way it felt like home.

There was something comforting about the company of other men, friends he and his family had developed over generations.

“Yes. Well….” George slowly lowered himself into one of the chairs across from him, his partner sitting next to him.

Randall couldn’t help noticing both men.

They were handsome, and Alan particularly so, with his sun-kissed skin and the most intense eyes Randall had ever seen.

He and George had known each other since they were ten, and he considered George, now Duke of Northumberland, a relatively close friend.

Alan, on the other hand, was a completely unknown quantity as far as Randall was concerned, and therefore someone to be skeptical of.

“Alan and I arrived in England last week. We were back in Wyoming for a month to help Alan’s family.

There’s a lot to be done this time of year, and it really is beautiful there. ”

Randall shuddered but did his level best not to show it. He could think of nothing worse than spending an entire month away from the civility of England. “I suppose everywhere has its charms if you look hard enough for them.”

Alan cleared his throat. George gently tapped his hand, and Alan nodded but sat a little taller before turning the full impact of his gaze on Randall.

“Now just how far up your ass have you pushed that stick?” There was no heat in his comment, and Randall figured Alan meant it as a joke, but he tightened his hold on his glass and blinked a few times before letting the remark pass.

He was not about to make a scene or draw attention, not here.

George snickered, but Randall refused to rise to anyone’s bait. “I’m just saying that I like it here. It’s civil, with all the comforts of home.”

“Ones you don’t need to work for,” Alan added.

He had a reputation for speaking plainly, and Randall had met him before and knew how Alan was.

But his holier-than-thou attitude got under his skin.

The truth was that he didn’t really like the man, but was well-mannered enough not to let it show, especially since he was George’s partner.

And yet he was a little jealous of how Alan felt comfortable enough to say what was on his mind without all the social beating around the bush.

One of the attendants approached, bringing him a refill of his Cognac, and Randall lifted the large glass, inhaling the deep, rich scent of the spirit before taking a sip from his glass. The attendant offered one to Goerge and Alan.

“Thank you,” George said.

“Can I have a whiskey, neat?” Alan said with a smile. “Thank you very much. I appreciate it.” And damned if the attendant didn’t smile back at him. These men were trained to be attentive and as unobtrusive as possible.

Randall cleared his throat, and the attendant’s smile disappeared in an instant.

“Don’t be a dick to the guy. I like him. The last time George dragged me to this place, he was helpful and kept me from making a fool of myself,” Alan told him as he shook his head, the attendant already on his errand to get the ordered refreshments.

Too late for that , Randall thought to himself.

This was a place for gentlemen, and Randall knew what that meant.

Alan sat back, those long legs stretching out as he made himself comfortable.

Maybe that was part of why Alan got under his skin.

The man always seemed so damned comfortable wherever he went.

He was sitting in Randall’s own club, and yet he looked as though he owned the place.

Other members came up and unobtrusively greeted Alan, shaking his hand and speaking quietly before moving on.

Others nodded and shared a quick smile before moving into the club room.

The man seemed so damned at ease with everyone and everything.

Even Montague, Marquess of Lowrey, one of the oldest and most decorous members in the establishment, seemed happy to see Alan.

“How are your horses this year, Harlan?” Alan asked as he passed by, practically shouting by club standards.

On top of that, he referred to one of the senior peers in the country by his first name, and the marquess didn’t even bat an eye.

Something was quite wrong, especially for a man like the marquess, who always prided himself on tradition and, well, normalcy.

“Alan, my boy,” he said. “They are doing wonderfully. Your help was greatly appreciated. You and George should come and see them now.” The man was practically giddy and actually patted Alan on the shoulder.

“I look forward to it,” Alan said, not politely but with genuine interest. “And if your team needs anything, let me know.” Alan was smiling at one of the oldest and most notorious grumps in England and getting a smile in return.

“Over here I sometimes feel like a duck out of water, but with horses, I know I’m at home. ”

Harlan met Randall’s gaze and nodded, his face falling back to his usual dour expression, and then he left the room. The attendant returned and set the drinks on the table before silently turning away.

“Thanks, Jimmy,” Alan said and sipped the whiskey. Then he stood. “I’ll be back.”

Randall wondered where he was going, but it was none of his business.

“Have fun. The billiard room is down to the right,” George added, and Alan turned, picked up his glass, and headed out. Both Randall and George followed him with their eyes, but judging by the heat in George’s, it was for very different reasons.

Randall shook his head as he watched Alan go. “Is he always like that? It must get exhausting.”

George smiled. “Yes. He’s honest and forthright. You always know where you stand with him. There’s no subterfuge or polite obfuscation. If he’s unhappy or angry, there’s no doubt about it.” He sighed softly. “And everyone seems to love him for it. I know I do.”

Randall and George had been interested in each other at one time, but that was years ago, and nothing had come of it. “Including Harlan, apparently,” Randall commented.

George leaned forward in the chair, sipping from his snifter after swirling the amber liquid.

“I took him to the races last year, and one of Harlan’s horses was running.

It did moderately well, but when I introduced him to Harlan after the race, Alan told him everything he thought was wrong.

Harlan looked about ready to bite his head off, but Alan just smiled and said, ‘Don’t worry, we can fix it if you like.

’ Then he went on to make suggestions, and you saw the result this time around.

Alan can seem abrupt, but he’s genuine.”

Randall took another sip and set his glass on the table. “I’m too damned English to be that genuine.”

George laughed outright, and others in the room turned. He quieted instantly, his own English reserve returning. “Sometimes I think I am too, but Alan is a breath of fresh air, and it’s really difficult not to inhale deeply.” He settled back in the chair now that Alan had disappeared from view.

Things grew quiet between them as George enjoyed his drink and Randall mulled over the questions that raced through his mind. “He called the marquess Harlan… and got away with it.”

George chuckled. “He doesn’t get the peerage thing at all. Titles mean nothing to him.”

“Using them is a sign of respect,” Randall said. He often hid behind the veneer of his title, especially when he was feeling particularly uncomfortable.

“The only time Alan uses my title is when he’s angry with me.

It took me a long time to begin to understand him.

When I first brought him to the estate, I wondered if he would fit in.

Instead, he learned who every person was who worked there and treated them all the same way.

He worked harder than anyone—still does.

But I will say this: if Alan gives you respect, it isn’t because of position or rank—it’s because you earned it.

” George finished the last of his drink and set the glass aside.

“Thank you for the drink. I understand there’s to be cards in about an hour. Are you going to play?”

Randall nodded. “You know me. I’m always up for cards.” It was one of the things he was truly good at. When playing, he had a very good read on the other players and almost always came out ahead.

“Excellent. I’m going to check on Alan, but I’ll see you in an hour.” George flashed him a genuine smile before leaving the room. Randall watched him go, wondering why Alan unleveled his world so easily and why the room felt a little duller now that he and George had left.

THE CARD room was fairly full when Randall entered.

The club staff was ready with chips and had the tables set up the same way they had been for decades.

Most regular players had seats they preferred, and Randall headed for his only to find Alan sitting in it.

Of course. He swallowed and took a chair at the same table, sitting next to the marquess and across from George.

“Now, my cowboy friend, no cleaning me out the way you did last time,” the marquess said seriously. Cards were always serious business in the club.