Alisa Highland’s love for horses and barrel racing has been put through a lot since coming off a suspension from the Women’s Professional Rodeo Association. Hardships and obstacles push her to her limits, and she turns to the cowboys to make ends meet to save her ranch.

Dr. Lance Rangle, her ex-fiancé, returns to help his father with the veterinarian clinic. An emergency visit brings Alisa and him, face-to-face. Their encounter reveals they still have feelings for each other.

The past lunges forward, and their unfinished business comes front and center. Will their love be enough to survive life’s new hurdles?

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Release Date: September 3, 2024
Genre: Contemporary Romance

~ A Pink Satin Romance ~

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Excerpt

Chapter One

Minus ten degrees.

Sighing, Alisa Highland wrapped a wool scarf around her neck and mouth and walked out into the cold December morning. Brittle snow crunched beneath her boots. Her lungs hurt breathing in the arctic air. She covered her mouth with the scarf. Having been born and raised in  Minnesota’s unforgiving temperatures, it was the way of life. Months of cold, some of warmth, then hot weather and back to the cold, all in a years’ time.

She tried not to look at the two barns in need of repair but couldn’t help it. Paint, new siding, and roof replacements were only part of the mental, I Need Money, list.

Why was she trying to save what was left of the six-hundred-fifty-acres family ranch?

Love of family or pride. Both seemed important, but neither provided the means to keep it afloat. There weren’t extra funds to afford ranch hands.

All the responsibility fell on her.

Buying feed for the horses, three dogs, not to mention the numerous barn cats – they ate her out of the proverbial house and home. Then there was the cleaning of the stalls, taking care of her father, Glenn, and disabled brother, Sonny. He tried to help as much as he could alongside his life coach, Conrad.

Their dad was no help. She couldn’t trust him. She never knew if he’d be sober, which wasn’t often.

Anger spurred her forward to her old and rusty Suburban that was idling. “Hurry up. I want to be out of here ASAP.”

“No need to yell.”

Alisa disregarded her dad’s remark, smelling the whisky as she neared him and seeing his half-dressed state for the cruel temperatures.

No hat or gloves.

No winter coat, only a hoodie, which wasn’t much protection.

She’d learned to pick her battles long ago. The word game was never a good one to play with an alcoholic. Sidestepping around him she went to the rear of the trailer.

Xavier, her barrel racing, four-year old chestnut colt, was already loaded into the trailer. Sonny, who’d finished putting in the supplies now stood next to Conrad, as he secured the back gate on the trailer.

Alisa eyed her brother whose short black hair was stuffed beneath his winter hat. Thank God he had on his winter jacket, scarf, and gloves. His blue eyes that matched hers were alert with all the activity. “You be good. Listen to Conrad, while I’m gone.”

“I be good. You win.”

The encouragement warmed her heart. His head injury from being thrown from a horse, wasn’t standing in his way of being a young man of twenty-two years old. The past ten years had been rough, but he had never given up on himself and she hadn’t either.

Gently, she tapped his red cheek. “Wish you could come with me.”

“In the way,” he uttered.

“If you say so. Maybe, next time.”

Sonny bobbed his head and shifted from side to side. A sign he was nervous.

“He’s showing progress, Alisa. It will take time. He is able to be around horses again. That is a huge success.” Conrad, who was at least a foot taller than Sonny, placed his gloved hands on his shoulders. No words were spoken but Sonny stopped his swaying.

“I know. If you need me, text.” Her unspoken worry was that her dad would need more care than Sonny.

“I will. Don’t worry,” Conrad nodded. “I’ll watch over them both.”

“Thanks.” She breathed in deeply, knowing he would babysit the two men while she was away.

“You gonna stand there yapping, wasting gas?”

She rolled her eyes at her dad’s comment. “I’m leaving.”

Quickly, she gave Sonny a hug and got into the truck. As she pulled out of the driveway, she turned on her faithful CB, ready for the ten-hour drive to Oklahoma City.

It didn’t take long to clear the Faribault city limits and her phone rang. She tapped the screen on the dash and the call came over the speakers.

“Hello.”

“Howdy. You available for the weekend in Oklahoma?”

“Frankie, I can be. For you?”

“Yup, for me and two others.”

“Three?” Alisa quickly calculated some figures, as she merged unto the interstate. “Throw in a few Bens.”

“We can manage that. See you when you get there.”

“For sure, bye.” Breathing a sigh of relief, she pressed disconnect and smiled.

The money would come in handy. Being a ‘cover, or prom date’, as some people called it, for her gay cowboy friends had started in high school. At first, she’d done it to protect her friends from social injustice. Then it became a business. Her reputation over the years was ruined. Most of the rodeo circuit called her a whore behind her back. Her gay friends knew she wasn’t and tried their best to protect her.

It hurt, but then she didn’t need their approval. The one person she had thought would’ve understood, hadn’t.

Damn Lance Rangle.

Having been her childhood friend, then her high school sweetheart-fiancé, he should have stood by her side. Instead, he had accused her of cheating, which destroyed their relationship.

Alisa cranked up the CB volume not wanting to think of Lance who’d stolen her heart and broken it. Voices crackled as she half listened for info on cops and a weather update. The white lines rolled by as she played the upcoming barrel riding clover-leaf course in her head.

Winning the BBR World Finals Futurity Championship, would give her the title of the Barrel Futurity of America World Champion and show the world she was back. She had a lot of making up to do and had done so this past year on the circuit again. Taking first, second and a few third places had been a godsend. The ranch ate money like it grew on trees.

For ten years she had taken the blame for the death of her barrel racing horse.

God and one other person knew the truth. She hadn’t been the one who whipped Buster, which had ultimately led to him getting sick, but her mother. The severity of the deep cuts caused a serious infection and Lance’s dad, the veterinarian, hadn’t been able to get ahead of it, which ultimately was the cause of Buster’s death.

Dr. Rangle had to report the mistreatment of the horse to the police. They wanted to arrest her, per Minnesota state laws. But they hadn’t when she’d taken the penalty for mistreating an animal. Being underage at the time, the courts had fined her and gave her a three-year suspension from owning a horse. And they had restricted her from competing for eight years.

Her life had been turned upside down.

Not being able to own any animals had taken a toll on the working ranch. All the horses, dogs, cats, and the few chickens they had owned had been sold and the barns sat empty.

She survived the punishment by taking care of her brother after he’d been released from the hospital. The eight-year suspension from competing ended last December. The first competition twelve months ago, in January, had been the worst. She had put up with the snide remarks and mean attitudes.

The people who hated her before worsened. She’d even received death threats, which the police were handling. Minor vandalism incidents occurred at every competition. Sometimes her truck was the target. The name calling had lessoned, but many hard-core haters believed she shouldn’t be allowed to compete.

“Break nineteen. Trigger, looking for Ice Queen.”

Eager for conversation, so she couldn’t dwell on the past, Alisa clicked the mic. “Ice Queen. Come on.”

“My, my. Thought that was your four-wheeler hauling.”

“Is that you at my back door?” She answered in the form of blinking her lights.

“You heading to O.K.?”

Alisa hesitated, not sure if she wanted to broadcast it over the airwaves she was heading to Oklahoma. The rodeo circuit were a well-knit group of riders. “Ten-four.”

“We’re about to get some go-go juice. Wanna join us?”

Here it comes.

The past never let her move forward. Trigger, Steve McGory’s call name, was nice, but he was a player, sexy and good-looking. Not her type of cowboy, they were usually nothing but trouble. He had been at several of the same events she had registered for in the last couple competitions.

“No. I’m good. Catch up with you in O.K.”

“Oh honey, can’t you spare some time for me?”

Game on.

“Trigger, you horny bull rider, I don’t have time to ride a cowboy.”

“Aw come on. I have a snake in my pants that needs to come out.” He laughed over the mic.

Then came the offensive and nasty comments by other listeners.

“I’ll make you a Willia B. Cummins.”

“Hey, I’ll be your stud-pony.”

“I got some whisky, wanna double?”

“I have a belt, I’d like you to be the buckle for.”

“Sorry, all you horny buckaroos, I’m not interested.” Thankfully, the big green exit sign came into view, and she saw Trigger’s red blinker go on and he changed lanes, heading for the off-ramp. She honked her horn and kept driving.

So much for the CB being a distraction. She turned it down and ignored all the other call outs.

Eight more hours.

 

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