Arrogant. Jerks.
Even her younger brother, Dane, suffered from a bad case of it when he’d been out on the circuit for too long.
But there was no bull rider who irked her quite like Wyatt Dodge. Her dear ex’s favorite rider. A man who’d made Damien tons of money and inflated his ego beyond the telling of it, which, in her humble opinion, had contributed to the flagrant affair her husband had engaged in with a woman who had—at the time—worked at Grassroots Winery, and had been young enough that she still probably remembered how to get to Sesame Street.
Not that it was Wyatt Dodge’s fault. No, Damien was responsible for his own body parts and where they wandered. He was the one who had made vows to her, and even if she did feel like perhaps his prolonged exposure to a pack of manwhores hadn’t helped her marriage, she knew exactly where the fault lay for what had transpired.
With Damien.
She’d caught him kissing an employee of their winery. A much younger employee. Sarabeth, who Lindy had considered a casual friend. A woman she’d invited into her home. A woman she’d paid an hourly wage to. And apparently some of those hours had been spent in bed with Lindy’s husband.
And Lindy could hold a grudge. And had. All the way to court, where she had managed to get full ownership of Damien’s family winery, Grassroots Winery.
Jamison Leighton and his wife had been unsurprisingly angry at the way all that had gone. But, they shouldn’t have left the entire thing to a son who didn’t know how to keep it in his pants. Particularly not a son who had signed a very foolish prenuptial agreement, designed only to protect him from her. Which had meant that all bad behavior stipulated in said agreement had been based on the assumption that she would be the one to do all the very bad things.
And so, she had emerged victorious. She’d given more power back to his sisters, who had not had a chance to claim any part of the property from his parents, but who had stood by her side through the ordeal.
She was close to Sabrina and Bea, in spite of the fact that they were blood-related to Damien. They were the sisters of her heart, and they all worked together even now.
She loved the winery, but unfortunately it was that work that brought her to the Get Out of Dodge ranch now—and was bringing her into contact with a man that she liked less than cooked carrots.
Bull rider. Manwhore. Friend of her ex-husband.
Wyatt Dodge.
Lindy gritted her teeth and parked her little red car in the gravel lot. She questioned her decision-making sometimes. The fact that she’d come to Wyatt with the idea of the joint barbecue that would hopefully increase business at both Grassroots and Get Out of Dodge. A barbecue that would showcase the grounds of the dude ranch and the wines from Grassroots, and educate people on the different activities available at both locations.
But it made sense. Business sense, anyway. And she’d felt like it would be shortsighted to let her feelings for Wyatt—both her irritation and the strange tightening she felt in her stomach whenever he was around—hinder an important business decision.
Back in the day, Get Out of Dodge had been a thriving dude ranch, bringing people in for miles. But then, Quinn Dodge had lost his wife, and the tragedy had made it difficult for him to continue running the place at that capacity. Since then, the ownership had passed to Quinn’s son, Wyatt, who had retired from the rodeo circuit. He was working on bringing it back to its former glory, modernizing it and creating a place that would cater to what guests wanted now.
Lindy felt like she was very much doing the same with Grassroots. Now that it was in her control she was doing all the expanding she had wanted to do when she and Damien had been married. He had been just happy to live in a big house and let the winery bump along, making income as it had always done.
Not Lindy. Lindy had come from nothing, and she didn’t take a thing for granted.
All that mattered was the future.
And getting through all of it without killing Wyatt.
“Now,” she muttered to herself. “If I were a pigheaded asshole where would I be?”
Seeing as it was lunchtime, he would probably be in the aptly named mess hall.
Lindy had to admit that the ranch was charming. All the little cabins that had been redone over the past few months, as well as the large communal dining hall, filled with picnic bench-style setups and with more seating outside by the river.
There were arenas with fresh dirt, both covered and uncovered, where people could ride, and learn to do some rodeo basics. They did a roping and barrel racing primer, and they were beginning to do trail rides of varying lengths and skill levels.
That was one of the big joint ventures happening between Grassroots and Get Out of Dodge.
They were offering a ride through the winery that took people through the vineyards and ended in a farm-to-table dinner in one of the revamped barns on her property. If you were staying at the ranch, you got a discount. And it was Jamie Dodge who was leading the ride.
It didn’t do them any good to see each other as competitors—they weren’t. He had people coming to stay on his property, and she had booze. That meant they were natural bedfellows.
When it came to business.
Lindy forced a smile as she traipsed into the mess hall. “Good afternoon,” she said, taking a chance that it would be Wyatt who was sitting inside.
She wasn’t disappointed. But, along with Wyatt were his younger brothers Grant and Bennett.
“Good afternoon,” Wyatt returned, leaning back in his chair and tipping his cowboy hat back on his forehead.
“I’m here to discuss brochures,” she said, feeling her lips tighten up as she spoke the words.
It was weird. Standing in front of them in a pencil skirt, wearing high heels and standing like she had a rod bolted into her spine.
She’d trained herself to be this way. She’d grown up in a trailer park with hand-me-down clothes and a mind-set of fending for herself. She might not have learned how to be fancy growing up, but she’d learned to take care of herself.
When she’d met Damien, she’d put her survival skills to good use. He’d paid attention to her, given her the kind of love she’d imagined a girl like her could never earn. In return, she’d figured out how to blend into his world. She’d wanted to be an asset to him, not a disadvantage. So she’d put this sleek, beautiful armor on.
She was still doing it now. But she ran a winery, so honestly, the learned behavior was on theme.
“You could have just sent me an email,” Wyatt said.
“I did,” she responded, through clenched teeth. “I sent two emails. A week ago. You didn’t respond to them.”
“Sorry, I don’t check my email all that often.”
“Then why did you suggest that as a method of communication?”
“Better than any other.”
“I
