Spotlight & Giveaway: Tall, Dark and Dangerous Cowboy by Leah Vale

Today, HJ is pleased to share with you Leah Vale’s new release: Tall, Dark and Dangerous Cowboy

She’s determined to protect her friends and business, but never imagined romance could pose a danger…

Meira Ware, former genetic researcher turned rodeo ranch bronc rider, has faced unfounded accusations and dismissal from a beloved career, so she’s secretive about her past. But when a compelling private investigator arrives at the ranch to get to the bottom of the sabotage threatening the Grit and Grace Rodeo Roughstock Company, she’s torn. She wants to cooperate, but the strong attraction growing between them possibly poses another danger, putting Meira on guard. She can’t risk her success on a fling.

Former Navy SEAL turned PI Dillon Johnson has been hired to discover who wants the fledgling woman-owned rodeo roughstock company to fail. Pairing up with the brilliant scientist, who seems to be hiding something, may not be a smart move. The strong and unexpected attraction threatens to derail his investigation. As they follow the clues, the threats become more menacing, and Dillon must use every tool in his arsenal to protect the woman he knows he will soon need to walk away from.

Enjoy an exclusive excerpt from Tall, Dark and Dangerous Cowboy 

Chapter One
“What’s going on? Did something else happen?” Meira Ware called out to the three tall, broad-shouldered men walking away from the helicopter as it powered down. The sleek, black private aircraft had just landed on the informal helipad not far from the circular drive at the front of the A Bar H ranch’s main house. The nearly full midnight moon silvered the rolling Texas Hill Country landscape beyond the reach of the warm glow of the security porch lights.

The men stopped and turned toward her. One was carrying what appeared to be a well-stuffed duffle and a dark-colored, soft-sided computer bag.

As if he planned to stay for a while.

The anxiety that had propelled her from her bed after being woken out of a sound sleep by the noise of the helicopter’s arrival ratcheted upward.

She knew two of the men, Noah Halliday and his older brother, Asher Halliday, the billionaire oil tycoon’s heir who happened to own the ranch she and her partners, who were also her dearest friends, had leased. They had needed the massive longhorn ranch just north of Last Stand, Texas, to serve as the home of Grit and Grace Rodeo Roughstock Company, which they’d founded nine months ago.

Right after the reality TV show Buckin’ Babes that the women had been cast on, featuring them competing as rodeo ranch saddle bronc riders, was cancelled. The boon of the cheaply offered ranch had come to them from Asher via his baby sister, Peyton Halliday, Grit and Grace’s not so silent partner.

Belatedly, Meira realized she really shouldn’t be questioning her landlord. But with Noah engaged to one of Grit and Grace’s bronc wranglers, Emma Barrett, and Asher seemingly on his way to a similar state with Laura Senske, the roughstock company’s chief financial officer, Meira couldn’t be blamed for forgetting. The two men were practically family.

Despite the cold Texas Hill Country’s late March air reminding her she’d come outside wearing nothing but her threadbare sleep tee and loungers, and with the chill from the front walk flagstones seeping into her bare feet, she stood her ground. She’d done her share of running, from her career, her family, her life.

No more.

The man whose identity she didn’t know murmured something to Noah, making Asher laugh. They appeared to be friends. She relaxed a little, but not completely. Understandable, with all the suspicious things that had been happening on the ranch since she and her friends moved in and set up their rodeo roughstock company last July. But maybe he was here to help. It certainly looked as though he intended to stay awhile.

Even the helicopter pilot, who Meira only knew as Captain Jack, appeared to be staying. He’d climbed from the aircraft with a much smaller, overnighter-type bag after shutting down and securing the helicopter emblazoned with Halliday Oil Corporation in gold paint. While Asher, Noah, and the unknown new arrival changed course and began walking her way, Captain Jack appeared content to let his boss handle the explanations and continued walking toward the bunkhouse.

The closer the three men drew, imposing in the midnight shadows broken only by the security lights over the bunkhouse and main house front porch, the more aware Meira became of her nightclothes. The T-shirt and pajama pants were far from skimpy, but the clingy fabric was, after all, what she slept in. Only in times such as this did she miss the armor her white lab coat had provided.

If she didn’t discover what was happening now, though, she’d never get back to sleep. Whatever embarrassment she might suffer was worth assuaging her worry.

Over the past weeks she’d grown used to Noah’s sheer size and Asher’s commanding presence, but the newcomer struck her as having a disquieting combination of both size and presence. He was wearing a light-colored cowboy hat that shadowed all but a whiskered square jaw, a sheepskin-lined jean jacket over a hoodie, and jeans that fit well. He was nearly as tall and broad-shouldered as Noah, but he drew her attention in a compelling way that neither of the Halliday men ever had. His stride was easy and assured, yet with a slightly predatory air that increased her pulse.

When the men reached her, Asher spoke first. “I’m sorry we woke you, Meira.”

With three sets of very masculine gazes trained on her, discomfort flared. She reflexively crossed her arms over her chest. Years spent trying to downplay her assets during her pre-Buckin’ Babes life made the move as automatic as breathing. That was then, but despite her now being far different, she kept her arms firmly in place.

Nevertheless, she squared her shoulders. “That’s okay. I only came out here because I was afraid something else has happened.”

“No need to worry. Nothing new has happened,” Asher said in a tone undoubtedly meant to reassure her, but the word yet hung unspoken between them.

She lifted her chin pointedly at the new arrival. “What’s going on?” she repeated.

Noah did the honors. “Meira, this is Dillon Johnson, a former team member of mine. Dillon, this is Meira Ware. As an honest-to-God genetic researcher, she’s in charge of hunting down and acquiring born to buck bloodlines for the Grit and Grace Rodeo Roughstock Company.”

While Meira didn’t uncross her arms, she did stand a bit straighter, pleased by Noah’s introduction and thankful he valued what she brought to the company.

“Pleasure,” this Dillon person said perfunctorily, then looked to Noah. “I thought you said Grit and Grace was made up of former Buckin’ Babes from the Buckin’ TV channel?” His voice was deep, with a graveled edge to it that Meira felt as much as heard.

She pushed the silly notion aside to focus instead on the fact Noah had been telling this man about them for some reason.

Noah said, “They are.” He gestured to Meira. “She was. While I’ve personally never seen her ride a bronc, according to Emma, Meira was particularly good at sticking to the sun fishers.”

Dillon cocked his head to the side, his confusion obvious. “Sun whaters?”

Growing colder and more confused by the minute, Meira said crisply, “Broncs that twist weird in the air.”

Though the darkness and the deeper shadow created by his hat prevented her from seeing his expression, there was no doubt that Dillon gave her a slow, thorough once-over. “So you really rode bucking broncs. Wow.”

The goosebumps pricking Meira’s skin had nothing to do with the chill night air. The visceral reaction to his blatant appreciation irritated her nearly as much as his looking her over like she was some sort of delectable dessert.

“Yes.” She waved off the subject and asked for the third time, “What’s going on? Why the midnight arrival?” She’d become very good at protecting herself, but keeping her friends, who had become her found family, and what they were building safe was proving more difficult. Especially without all the information.

Asher spoke up. “I’ll explain everything, to everyone, in the morning.”

“Why can’t you tell me now?”

“Because I prefer to do it only once,” Asher said firmly, reminding Meira he was, after all, the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar oil company. A fact she often forgot because of the softer, more relaxed side of him Laura had brought out.

Dillon shifted toward her. “While normally I don’t have to apologize for waking a woman, I am truly sorry for disturbing your sleep. But my schedule was such that this was the earliest I could make it here.”

“To do what, exactly?”

Asher sighed. “In the morning, Meira. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we need to get Dillon settled.” He turned and started walking away.

She wanted to ask, Settled why? For what? Her insatiable need to know had made her a great researcher, but lately had only resulted in frustration. She knew when any of the Hallidays were done talking, they were done talking.

Noah said more gently, “We’ll explain everything in the morning. Sleep well.” He looked to Dillon and nodded his head toward his older brother’s retreating back before following himself.

Dillon tugged on the brim of his hat. “Miss.” Then he followed Noah, heading toward the bunkhouse.

Meira stifled her exasperation and hurried back into the warm house. There was no way she was going to be able to fall back asleep now.

But at least Dillon Johnson hadn’t called her ma’am.

Dillon Johnson had fully expected to have a perfunctory meet and greet with his buddy Noah’s older brother, Asher, then flop onto whatever bed they pointed him to and sleep for however many hours they’d allow him. He was exhausted in a way he’d never experienced while serving as a SEAL team member.

Sure, they’d spent endless hours doing nothing more than waiting and watching while deployed. But sitting in a rental car outside of an office building for hours on end, waiting to photograph some office manager illegally making off with boxes of essential client files, wore him out like nothing he’d ever known.

Such was the life of a private investigator.

The fatigue of inactivity was especially hard for him to shake and had been a major reason he jumped at the chance to head to Texas and Noah’s brother’s ranch the minute he was free of his previous case. He doubted he’d have much need for seemingly endless hours stuck in a car, looking through the lens of a camera, to discover whatever was going on at the A Bar H and with the women of Grit and Grace Rodeo Roughstock Company.

The moment he caught sight of the beauty introduced to him as Meira Ware, with her glorious head of long, fire-kissed dark hair wild around her head and lit from behind by the porch light like a naughty halo, he’d snapped instantly awake. And the closer he came to her, the more he knew he’d been right by telling Noah he’d undersold this investigative job.

Meira Ware, with her bare feet sexy as hell beneath pajama bottoms too short for her long legs and full breasts poorly concealed by her belligerently crossed arms, was not what he’d been expecting when Noah had told him of the women bronc riders turned rodeo stock contractors. While he had zero experience with bronc riders, male or female, Meira’s jaw-dropping beauty and the brains she’d need to become a genetic researcher were more than a little surprising. But everything about this job was going to be a surprise because he hadn’t done his usual research before arrival. Noah had said he needed him, so here he was.

Noah and Asher paused on their way to what Dillon assumed to be the bunkhouse, waiting pointedly for him to catch up.

Asher said, “I hope you don’t mind staying in the bunkhouse instead of the main house.”

“Is the main house full of more of that?” Dillon aimed a thumb at the now empty front walk where Meira had been standing like a very hot hall monitor.

“Only on my good days,” Noah quipped.

Dillon smirked as he reached them. “Sorry, buddy, you have never had a day as good as that.”

Having served on the same SEAL team for three years, he and Noah had certainly experienced both good and bad days. Though the day Noah had dragged Dillon out of a smoldering and blown to hell JLTV after running over an IED had certainly been his worst. Noah’s worst day had come two years later when he’d been shot. Having already been honorably discharged, Dillon hadn’t been there for Noah.

But now was his chance to make up for it.

Continuing toward a single-story building constructed of the same tan stone as the huge main house, Asher warned, “You’d be smart to keep your admiration to yourself. That one knows Krav Maga.”

Dillon’s attention was instantly refocused. “Any particular reason why?”

Krav Maga, which literally meant contact combat, wasn’t the usual aerobics class fare. Practitioners were taught how to end a fight as quickly and efficiently as possible, regardless of the chance of permanent injury to or even death of their opponent.

Noah shook his head as he reached the dark-stained door, warmly illuminated by an overhead security light. “None that she’s cared to share. But the obvious reason, at least to me, is that she’s a very beautiful woman who used to travel around competing at rodeos.” Noah opened the door and entered, flicking on the low-light wall sconces.

Dillon grunted, not convinced, as he followed his former teammate into the dimly lit communal living area of the bunkhouse. Learning to employ a fighting style originally taught to Israeli special forces seemed an extreme way to cope with handsy cowboys. But what did he know? While he’d spent his summers helping at his grandfolks’ ranch outside of Shreveport while growing up, he’d never ventured into the rodeo scene. For all he knew, such an extreme form of self-defense was warranted.

His nose for trouble, which was attuned enough to make him a natural for the private investigator game, had begun twitching, though. If whatever was behind the unexplained happenings here on the A Bar H was in some way rooted in the reason why a lovely woman would learn how to effectively crush a man’s throat, he needed to look into it.

As he took in the kitchen’s gourmet appliances, the overstuffed brown leather sectional, and the large, wall-mounted flatscreen TV adorning what was essentially employee housing, Dillon was more inclined to believe the Halliday family, with their billions earned through the production and distribution of fossil fuels, were the more likely targets.

He only half paid attention while Asher quietly explained the layout of the inverted T-shaped bunkhouse. Off the shared living space was a long hallway. There were doors opening to individual bedrooms on either side of it, all leading to a communal bathroom at the end.

Noah opened a door on his right. “This room will be yours.”

Dillon went in, and the equally well-appointed room, full of high-end, yet rustic-looking, dark-stained furniture and another wall-mounted flat-screen TV, added weight to his belief that the Hallidays’ wealth was a motivator for the acts of sabotage. If it weren’t for the shared bathroom facilities, he could easily mistake this room for five-star hotel accommodations rather than a working ranch’s bunkhouse.

All in all, a far cry from his last job that had required he sleep in his car and attempt to clean up in filthy gas station bathrooms. The reminder had him scratching at the beard he’d let grow rather than spending more time in said bathrooms so he could shave. He’d need to take the shaggy mess down some in the morning.

Standing in the doorway next to his brother, Noah said softly, “Our two ranch hands, Carlos Martinez and Jonny Tiller, have the rooms across from you. They’re obviously sleeping at the moment. Justin Chadwick, our ranch manager, has taken to sleeping in the main house with Beth Dawson and her dog, but he still keeps some of his gear in his room here. If you don’t see him here first thing in the morning, you’ll meet him later, along with the others. Carlos and Jonny know you’re going to be here, as well as why, but they might already be up and gone by the time you get moving.”

Dillon deposited his computer bag on the bed and set the duffel on the floor next to it. “Normally, I don’t lead with the fact that I’m a private investigator. Makes snooping into people’s pasts and digging up possible ill intent easier.”

His voice firm with authority, Asher said, “I can vouch for the loyalty and integrity of the men I employ here. Justin and Carlos basically grew up with us on our grandfather’s ranch, and Jonny was fully vetted.”

Dillon simply nodded. More often than not, it was those a client held closest who delivered the most damaging blows. He’d be looking into everyone here at the A Bar H. He wouldn’t be doing his job if he didn’t.

Noah grabbed the bedroom’s doorknob. “We’ll leave you to get settled. Don’t worry about an early muster. Work normally starts at or before dawn around here, but when people get up is dependent on their own schedules or duties. We’ll gather everyone midmorning up at the main house and formally introduce you.”

He nodded again. “Works for me.”

Asher pointed at the computer bag. “I sent you an email with the names, roles, and basic background of everyone here on the ranch. You might want to review the list before heading to the house tomorrow.”

“Will do,” he said, as amicably as he could. Asher Halliday was a boss man through and through, and there was no way Dillon was going to ruffle the guy’s feathers.

Noah lingered after Asher disappeared down the hall. Aiming a finger at the room in general, he asked, “You good?”

What he didn’t ask, but Dillon knew he meant, was How’s the head? The hearing? The reason he’d been discharged from the commitment he’d loved.

He met Noah’s gaze directly. “I’m good.” Because he was. The headaches, the vertigo, all good. Only the hearing loss still affected him. But thanks to technology, he was back to his old self.

And even if Noah had been referring solely to the accommodations, his answer would have been the same. He could have been shown to a literal pig stye and he’d still be good. He owed Noah his life. Not every man who had been in that vehicle had been as lucky as he had. And even if he didn’t owe Noah, Dillon would still do everything in his power to help the man he considered a brother.

Wholly accepting his declaration, Noah grinned. “It’s good to have you here, Dillon.”

“Trust me, it’s good to be here.”

“Come up to the house when you’re ready tomorrow. I can’t wait for you to meet Emma.”

It was Dillon’s turn to grin. “That good, eh?”

“That good. Get some rest.”

“Roger that.”

Dillon waited for Noah to shut the door before he took a seat on the bed, appreciating the give of the mattress and the softness of the comforter with its southwestern-style burgundy-and-brown pattern. From his computer bag, he dug out a small case, a charger cable, and a plug, which he inserted into the outlet handily built into the bedside table. With a yawn generated by a very long day, he removed both of his hearing aids and put them into their case to recharge. Then he toed off his boots and began to undress.

He’d shower and shave in the morning. He figured he’d need as much time in the rack as he could get. Though actually sleeping might be out of his reach.

He had a very strong feeling sleep would prove elusive with the image of a fire-tinged, dark-brunette beauty staring him down burned in his brain.

Excerpt. ©Leah Vale. Posted by arrangement with the publisher. All rights reserved.
 
 

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Meet the Author:

Having never met an unhappy ending she couldn’t mentally “fix,” Leah Vale believes writing romance novels is the perfect job for her. A Pacific Northwest native with a B.A. in Communications from the University of Washington, she lives in Central Oregon, with a huge golden retriever who thinks he’s a lap dog. While having the chance to share her “happy endings from scratch” is a dream come true, dinner generally has to come premade from the store.

Buy: https://tulepublishing.com/books/tall-dark-and-dangerous-cowboy/