Long Hard Ride: The Wild Wests, #3

By Adriana French

Shane West is known around these parts as one that got away. Oh, he's happy to take the ladies on long rides night after night, just as long as there's no commitment. With his piercing blue eyes, and unflinching stare, he's a man of few regrets, and no strings.

 

Until now.

 

Shane shouldn't have promised Chuck he'd protect his property and keep his granddaughter safe from her devious boyfriend. But Shane's loyal to the core, and Chuck was on his deathbed. Six months of wedlock seemed like an easy tradeoff to let the man Shane considered a father pass away in peace.

Now Shane's got an unbroke filly on his hands and now, he's one obsessed cowboy.

 

How long will this alpha cowboy be able to control himself around the prettiest woman he's ever seen? She's prancing around the house in skimpy outfits, begging him to take her V-Card.

 

Oh, he'll take it alright.

And once he does, he'll never want to let her go.

 

Saddle up, Sugar. The cowboy-cavemen are back. Shane West is an obsessed Alpha hero to the nth degree. Expect high heat, love at first sight, and an over the top, V-card, arranged marriage plot.

No cheating. Happily ever after guaranteed.
Grab the reins, let's saddle up with Long Hard Ride!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adriana French
• Release date: May 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201446598

Book preview

Long Hard Ride

The Wild Wests #3

Adriana French

Long Hard Ride Copyright © 2020 by Adriana French. 

This book is a work of fiction. You have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen.  No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored without express permission. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, or places, events or locations are purely coincidental.

Newsletter

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

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Chapter One

March

I can’t fucking breathe. That damn fireplace is spitting and crackling, putting off so much heat, and the only thing I can do to escape this shitshow is stare out the window. I manage a deep breath and focus on three spindly pines in the distance.

Let’s get started. The preacher steps in front of me and cracks open his Bible.

Fuck. My heart pounds so hard I think it’s battering my ribcage. I can’t believe I’m actually going through with this.

I need to concentrate on calming the fuck down. As soon as I get this over with, I can get back to what’s important, my cattle business.

I’ve never lived with a woman, never mind married one. Hell, I’ve never even been in love. But when I do fall, you can bet your ass it will be a woman of my choosing. It will only happen once, because I’m possessive as shit, so I’ll never let her go.

My wife will be at least my age, thirty-six. But I prefer older women. I’ve tried messing around with younger fillies before, and they only gave me a pain in the ass.

Brooke Carlisle is fifteen damn years younger than me, so this is not good.

Christ. I loosen my tie because I’m suffocating. I don’t know why I even wore one. This is barely a ceremony, no one’s here.

Chuck Carlisle, who’s out of bed for the first time in months, nudges my leg. He’s in a wheelchair beside me, acting as my best man. Best? Really? The old codger fucking trapped me into marrying his granddaughter, and he damn well knows it.

Chuck bumps my leg again.

I lean down. What?

Thank you, son. You’ve made me very happy. Now I can die in peace knowing the ranch will stay in the family and Brooke will be taken care of. His crinkly eyes smile back at me. And shit, I can see he’s sincere. I like it better when he’s bullshitting me. If they don’t put that son-of-a-bitch boyfriend of hers back in prison before I croak, at least I’ll know you’ll be around to protect her. Chuck starts hacking as if he needs to emphasize that he’s dying.

I shift my stance, but there is no position on earth that’s going to make me feel more comfortable. Chuck bumps my leg again.

What is it this time? I growl, losing my patience. How the fuck long am I supposed to stand here waiting for a bride who doesn’t even know me anymore? A bride who’s going to annoy the living hell out of me.

You didn’t have to make me your best man. Chuck cackles. But it’s a nice touch, I’ll give you that.

I bend close to his ear, keeping my voice low so the preacher doesn’t hear me. I only asked you to be my best man because I’m too fucking embarrassed to tell my family about this crock-of-shit circus act.

Chuck narrows his eyes and pouts. Now that’s no attitude to have on your wedding day. He starts hacking again. The tubes stuck in the top of his hand shake and wiggle. Crap. It looks like the IV stand is going to tip over.

I move to straighten it, but his nurse beats me to it. Chuck finally clears his throat. Live together in this house for six months, which is more than enough time for the law to track that little shit down, and you’ll walk away with one hundred grand and one hundred acres, just like I promised. Stay married for ten years, and you two will get everything. Seven hundred acres, five million in cash—my entire estate is yours. Who knows? Chuck’s crinkly eyes light up. You just might like being hitched.

I’m not doing this for your goddamned money, Chuck, and you fucking know it. I’m only going through with this insane ceremony so you can die in peace. Hell, giving six months of my life to the man who taught me everything I know is the least I can do. But I’m not happy about him asking.

The preacher clears his throat and I straighten, giving him my attention. The song White Wedding blasts from someone’s phone. I scan the room and freeze.

Holy hell.

Brooke Carlisle.

I haven’t seen her since she was ten. Shit, is she gorgeous—batshit crazy for doing this, sure, but unbelievably pretty. My goddamn heart bucks like a bronco trapped in a cage. Shiny long dark hair, beautiful big brown eyes, and those legs. Is she even wearing a bra? Those nipples—

Someone told me there was a party in here. Brooke laughs from the front door way that leads straight into the living room. Her silky voice is a slap in the face, reminding me she’s off limits. There will be consequences if my cock gets anywhere near her pussy. She waves her phone in her delicate hand and cranks up Billy Idol. You ready to get this dog-and-pony show rollin’?

Christ. It’s not like me to be speechless, but the way she’s walking—taking extra-dramatic steps with those long, smooth legs—takes every damn thought away, except for the one where I’m fucking her on the table she just walked by. She’s wearing white, but she doesn’t look like any bride I’ve ever seen.

Her white cowboy boots click over the hardwood as she approaches me. My heart is racing so fast I might be having a heart attack, or Christ, maybe come in my pants. She’s wearing skintight white shorts and a white flowy blouse of some kind. She levels me a sly smile under her white-as-snow cowboy hat. And fuck. Those lips.

Brooke stands beside me, and a perfume of oranges, sunshine, and cookies surrounds me. Lord have mercy, she’s edible. I keep facing the pastor but steal a sideways glance at Brooke. She must be at least five eight, because I don’t have to bend much to get a good look. Jesus. She’s so young. Her skin is flawless, smooth, and supple, I can only imagine how sweet her little pussy would taste.

It was her idea not to see each other before the wedding, otherwise I would’ve been more prepared. My head is throbbing, trying to sort out all the wrong feelings from the right.

It isn’t like me to be confused. Not ever. I’m a grown man who knows what he wants, and a twenty-one-year-old filly ain’t it. Yet every fucking bone in my body, including the one between my legs, is telling me Brooke Carlisle is the one.

Shane McCallum West, the preacher begins in a somber, serious voice.

I think I’m going to pass out.

***

I turn off my phone and steal a quick peek at Shane. There’s a bead of perspiration over his left eyebrow. Thank God I’m not the only one sweating bullets around here.

My heart is thumping, but not in its usual pattern. It’s more of a thump, thump, thurumpthurump—probably due to being scared shitless.

On the other hand, Shane McCallum West is pretty thrilling. My body sure as hell thinks so. I haven’t seen him in years, and I’m already wet. Holy shit, did he turn out fine, with that black hair and those killer eyes. He’s built like a tank, with one of those chiseled-to-perfection jaws. All muscles and swagger, he’s every dangerous-cowboy fantasy I’ve ever gotten off to.

And now, you may kiss the bride, the preacher says.

Shit’s getting real.

My hands are slicked with sweat. I hold my breath as Shane levels his piercing blue eyes at me from under his black hat. Black. The man wears all black to his wedding. Who does that?

Are we really going to kiss? I ask, feeling my face heat. I cannot believe I just said that out loud. What the hell? Just because they kiss every time they say that in the movies doesn’t mean it’s supposed to happen now.

Shane leaves my question floating like a feather in the air, as if he didn’t hear what I said. Then his massive shoulders relax, and he zeros in on me. My heart jumps. I wasn’t expecting him to seriously kiss me. But it looks like he wants to. Oh, my. He’s coming in . . . Shane’s six-foot-a-whole-lot-of-something muscled frame bends.

Warmth