Colorado, 1879
Jilted once, Garret McCoy has sworn never to fall in love again. But that doesnât stop him from wanting to have a little fun, and he bets he can be the man to get the preacherâs shy daughter out on the dance floor. He never gambled on her stealing his heart, though!
Rory Boyle has kept to herself, fearful if the townsfolk learn her secret, sheâll be an outcast. But she canât resist taking a turn with the handsome but ornery Garret. Or giving in to his kisses...
Dear Reader,
Welcome to Stetsons and Scandals!
Rancher Garret McCoy rarely takes off his Stetson, and Rory Boyle, well, her entire life has been a scandal. One she doesnât want exposed.
At his daughterâs wedding, my brother did get me on the dance floor, and that night, long after the reception ended and I was dozing off to sleep, the fun of the night swirled into a story. How would a woman feel when she discovers a man only danced with her to win a bet? Of course, one dance always leads to a next, and thatâs what happens for Rory and Garret.
Stories are like that. It doesnât take much more than a flicker of a thought to spark into a fire that soon catches air and grows. I love those initial flickers. No, they donât all become stories, but Iâm glad Garret and Roryâs did.
If you enjoy their story, the other book of the Stetsons and Scandals miniseries is Rescued by the Ranger, where youâll meet Texas Ranger Trace Edwards and Annie, his brotherâs wife.
Blessings,
Lauri
Chapter One
Eastern Colorado, 1879
Old Chester Franks, stomping one foot against the wagon bed as he drew the bow across the strings of his fiddle, filled Grady Campbellâs barn with a tune that had folks tapping toes and clapping hands.
Garret McCoy tipped back the brim of his hat, taking in the women dressed in ruffles and bows and men in suit coats and string ties. He had on a string tie, too, though heâd rather not have. Heâd have much preferred to be home, spending the evening in the bunkhouse listening to Art and Sam reminisce about the old days and playing cards.
Being the dutiful son didnât allow such luxuries. Ma needed him, so heâd sent his younger brothers, Toby and Jeb, to drive the herd to the rail station in Dodge. Heâd be here until the wee hours of the morning, when heâd pull out the wagon being used as a stage, clean up the party debris and help Grady get his critters back in their stalls.
There was no sense regretting it, but he sure didnât have to enjoy it.
âHey, McCoy!â
Garret turned toward the speaker in no rush. Craig DeLong always had something to say, and most of it wasnât worth listening to.
âYou want in on the bet?â DeLong asked.
Letting the question settle as his gaze wandered the inside of the barn again, Garret pushed off the frame of the open doorway and meandered his way toward the hay bundles someone had fashioned into a table and benchesâcomplete with a red-checkered tablecloth to keep the cards from getting stuck in the hayâbeside the barn. âWhatâs the game?â he asked, nodding toward Ray Ray Jepson.
Shuffling the deck as if he was on one of the paddleboats he bragged about gambling on before losing one eye when a game got out of hand, Jepson said, âWe ainât started playing cards yet. Weâre betting on who can get Rory Boyle on the dance floor.â
Garret did his best to hide the sudden chill that stabbed his spine like a sharpened spur. âWhy?â
âUh?â DeLong looked utterly confused, as did several others sitting on the bundles.
âWhy would anyone want to get Rory Boyle on the dance floor?â Garret asked.
ââCause sheâs the prettiest gal at the dance,â DeLong answered. âMayhap, the county.â
âAll that yellow hair and those blue eyesâIâve only seen a few prettier in all my years of riverboat gambling,â Ray Ray said, nodding as if that bit of information was of high importance.
It wasnât. What was important, to Garret, was the fact Rory Boyle was the reason he was at Grady Campbellâs barn dance instead of on a profit-making cattle drive. Sheâd convinced his mother he should be the one to stay home this time. That Toby and Jeb needed to learn to handle the drives by themselves. His brothers could handle the drives, all right; there wasnât a McCoy who couldnât handle anything thrown at them, and it wasnât Rory Boyleâs place to stick her nose in and say boo about any of it. Every day that went by, she got more uppity, waiting on Jim Houston to return. Half the town had figured out it wasnât going to happenâJim coming back, that is. Heâd always been a scalawag, a blowhard not worth the time of day.
The thought of another girl waiting for her beau to return filtered into the back of Garretâs mind, but he slammed that door shut. He was not Jim Houston, and Emily Rosengren was not Rory Boyle.