Wild Nights: Billionaire Cowboys Gone Wild, #3

By Adriana French

Billionaire Cowboy Cash Parker has been through the ringer. Now that he's out of the Marines and found a new passion as an award-winning chef, nothing will stop him… Except the curvy bombshell he's competing against.

 

Finger lickin' good. That's the first thing that comes to mind when I think of Katherine Miller. Imagine my surprise when I found out she entered the America's Best Barbeque Reality Show too…

I've been going to her family's diner for their famous barbeque beef sandwiches for months… But as the executive chef of my chain of restaurants, I need to prove it takes more than money to be successful.

 

After I left the Marines, I lost my identity, and cooking saved me. Now I have the skills to show the world I know what I'm doing in the kitchen. But with Kitty here, competing against me in a cooking tent out in the middle of nowhere, how can I concentrate on recipes when she's the most delicious dish I've ever seen?

Now, the producers have us shacked up in the same bunkhouse.

 

Oh, I still have an appetite to win alright – The only prize I want to claim is Miss Finger Lickin' Good.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adriana French
• Release date: Oct 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201527655

Book preview

Finger lickin’ good. That’s the first thing that comes to mind when I think of Katherine Miller.

Imagine my surprise when I found out she entered the America’s Best Barbeque Reality Show too...

I’ve been going to her family’s diner for their famous barbeque beef sandwiches for months... But as the executive chef of my chain of restaurants, I need to prove it takes more than money to be successful.

After I left the Marines, I lost my identity, and cooking saved me. Now I have the skills to show the world I know what I’m doing in the kitchen. But with Kitty here, competing against me in a cooking tent out in the middle of nowhere, how can I concentrate on recipes when she's the most delicious dish I've ever seen?

Now, the producers have us shacked up in the same bunkhouse.

Oh, I still have an appetite to win alright – The only prize I want to claim is Miss Finger Lickin’ Good.

Saddle up, Sugar. A new breed of cowboy-cavemen is here. They’re dirty and filthy rich. Cash Parker is the next Parker brother to meet in the Billionaire Cowboys Gone Wild Series of standalone reads.

Chapter One

Are you lost? my little sister, Liza, shouts from my dashboard. She’s twenty-one, six years younger than me, but has always been so protective.

No. My GPS is on, but the direction of my life has veered wildly off the tracks. I’m so lost, I might as well be in Timbuktu.

What the heck are you talking about?

I’m way out of my comfort zone. I raise my voice over the rain pummeling my roof. I have no idea why I’m doing this competition. You’re so thin the camera could add fifty pounds on you and it wouldn’t matter. And you are the pretty one, after all. I’m not exaggerating. Everyone in my family says Liza got the beauty gene.

Don’t say that. You’re gorgeous.

I wasn’t fishing for a compliment. I’m just getting nervous.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m attractive in my own curvy, brown-haired, brown-eyed, five-foot-two kind of way. But Liza is five ten with an incredible body and the bone structure of a supermodel.

"When the producers came into Slo Mo that day, it was your barbeque beef sandwich they tasted. You’re the one with the talent."

Hardly. I make the same recipes over and over, every week. I have to fight Dad and Gramps anytime I want to try something new on the menu.

Liza sighs. Where are you exactly? Dad’s worried about you driving in this weather.

I tap the brakes gently and take another hairpin turn on the uneven rock-strewn road. I’m on Mustang, that old back road to the lake. There still aren’t any streetlights out here. I can’t see a darn thing.

Then go slow.

I know, I yell. I’m pretty much crawling. Good thing I left early.

Do you have everything you’re going to need?

Yep. I grip the wheel and lean forward, trying to stay close to the faded white line. The producers made it clear we’ll be roughing it. But I packed my makeup, blow-dryer and curling iron. It’s in their best interest to let me use them.

Who knows, maybe you’ll have your own glam team. After all, this show is probably going to be on Netflix for the rest of your life. Think of the millions who’ll be watching.

I’d rather not. My stomach churns and I ask myself for the fiftieth time why on earth I agreed to be on the first season of America’s Best Barbeque. But, of course, I know exactly why I’m putting myself through this torture. If I win that hundred grand, we can turn Slo Mo into a real restaurant. We can keep the deli, but think of the money we could make if we converted the patio out in back. I imagine the grin on my dad’s and grandpa’s faces as I hand over a wad of cash to them. It’s been a long time since anything good happened to our family.

My mother died five years ago. An image of her bright smile jumps to the surface of my memories. My heart fills with joy before the reality sets in and a rush of sadness washes over me. I don’t think my father will ever get over losing her. And my grandpa works so hard, he never has time to laugh or joke around anymore. He doesn’t even play poker with his buddies Friday nights the way he used to.

Ever since those billionaire Parker brothers moved into West Palomino and opened their Wild Cat Bar and Grill, our family business has been in the toilet.

Unfortunately, Cash Parker, the snooty chef of the family who thinks he’s God’s gift to women, is also in this competition. I can’t wait to see the shock on his face when I beat him.

He might have more money than me, but his barbeque sauce doesn’t even come close to mine. I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets his out of a bottle.

Try not to put all that pressure on your shoulders. You’ve got this. Liza pauses, and I can picture her biting her nails down to the quick. She’s as nervous as I am.

A light up ahead flickers, making me slow the car. I think I see the turnoff. I don’t want to miss it, so I better get off the phone. I gulp and try to ignore the nerves churning in my stomach. Wish me luck.

You’ll be great. Just do what you always do and you’ll win. And call me! We’ll all be dying to know how it’s going. Oh, and good luck with Cash Parker.

"Good luck with him? What is that supposed to mean? He’s my main competition."

Maybe so, Liza says in her sing song voice, letting me know she’s well aware that she’s struck a nerve, but whenever that cowboy strolls into Slo Mo, you always hide and make me take his order. It’s pretty obvious you have a major crush on him.

I shake my head. How idiotic can she be? Perhaps you should see a doctor about those hallucinations of yours.

Liza laughs and we say our goodbyes. I’m almost there ... I keep my eyes glued to the road. There’s a side of me that wishes I could back out of the show, drive right past the turnoff and not put myself through the misery. But after we lost Mom and her teacher’s income, I learned the hard way that I don’t have the luxury of doing what I want.

My family is broke, and it’s up to me to save the day. The only thing I care about is keeping a roof over our heads. And I don’t complain about it either. Not usually. But being on camera with the whole world watching? Ugh.

I squint through my fogged-up windshield and take the turn into what appears to be an old campground. I break into a clammy, nervous sweat as I scan the premises for a hotel. The producers said we’d be roughing it in the kitchen, but surely they’re putting us up in decent accommodations, aren’t they?

I let out a sigh of relief when I spot a pretty log lodge in the distance, lit up like a Christmas tree. I inch further up the unpaved driveway and head towards a building where I can just make out a sign that reads Check In Here.

But why are there so many cars jammed into this parking lot? They must have a gigantic crew, because the email told us to arrive by eight and it’s only seven thirty. I must be one of the first contestants here.

I scout down one row of cars and the next, searching for any spot to squeeze into. The rain is still coming down hard. I’m wearing my parka, but I’d like to get as close to the check-in building as possible.

Finally, I see a slot between a Toyota and a dented-up van. I hit the brakes just as a flashy Range Rover comes barreling down my row and tries to scoot in front of me. Not so fast, buddy. I turn the wheel, cutting in front of the Rover. My headlights light up the driver’s side just enough for me to see it’s Cash Parker.

Damn him. He’s giving me grief before we even start shooting? Really?

I press the gas and cut the wheel, narrowly missing his front bumper, and slide over the slushy potholes into the spot. I turn off the ignition and then my lights. Hopefully he’ll get the clue that I’m not going anywhere. My fingers tremble and my hands stay clutched to the wheel. His bright headlights shine in my rearview mirror. I wait for what feels like an hour until he drives off.

Finally. After zipping my parka up to my neck and flipping up my hood, I grab my bag off the passenger seat. The second I get out of the car I’m pelted with rain coming down hard enough to sting my cheeks. I make a mad dash to check in, but mid run, a gooey puddle of mud traps my foot in a vacuum seal. My duffle lands with a splashy thud on the wet dirt.

I grit my teeth and tug my foot out of the goop. I don’t have time to worry about ruining my new ankle booties or if everything in my bag is now soaked. The rain is so hard and so fast and so heavy I can’t see more than a few feet in front of me, but I keep going, hauling my wet duffle and half limping because my left bootie is only halfway on my foot now. I’m too cold to stop to fix my shoe, so I just keep slogging.

Do you need some help? a deep, rich baritone calls out behind me. Shudders rattle up my spine, but I don’t turn back to answer. Maybe he’ll think I can’t hear him in this downpour, but I know exactly whose hunky body that sexy voice is coming from. I’d recognize Cash Parker’s melted-chocolate tone anywhere. There’s a smoothness to that darn voice that makes you want to melt into him.

Good thing I don’t fall for that sort of stuff. He comes into Slo Mo at least twice a week, for either barbeque beef or pulled pork. Oh, he flatters us and tells us we make the best there is, but we all know he’s only trying to steal our recipes. I adjust my duffle’s strap.

Do you need help? His voice rattles through me, louder this time.

Obviously I need help. I probably look like a wounded moose out here, and my bag feels like it’s filled with cement now that it’s soaked and coated with mud. No thank you, I call out, half turning over my shoulder but not all the way, because—against my will—heat begins to flood way down low. What is wrong with me?

I try to pretend my enemy isn’t behind me and hurry as fast as I can until I finally reach the check-in building’s porch. There’s no overhang, but at least I’m out of the mud. My boots clunk over the porch’s rough wooden slats. And then the sound of two more boots—big, manly-man boots that go with the six foot three or four or however tall Cash is—tromp behind me. Lordy.

As Cash catches up, I steal a peek at his ludicrously handsome face. And darn it if he doesn’t look exactly as mouthwatering as he did the last time I saw him.

Let’s face it. I won’t be able to ignore Cash while filming. There are only fifteen contestants, and we’ll be shooting