Not long after his father announced his intention to marry a gold-digger with a lying, scheming fourteen-year old daughter, seventeen-year old Tripp Warner left Warner Ridge Ranch and never looked back.  Until the day he got the phone call that his father has died unexpectedly. 

Reggie Reed lives with guilt every day for the self-centered deeds of her youth, but could never quite work up the courage to track down the son of the man who took her in and raised her as his own.  Then Tripp shows up at his father’s funeral eleven years later, a hell of a man to be reckoned with who has no interest in her too-late apology.  Even worse, they’ve inherited half shares of the family ranch—but only if they catch Mason’s Gold together, the stallion Reggie set free and made sure Tripp took the blame for it. 

Tripp proposes a secret competition to the beautiful witch who stole his life: whoever catches the stallion first gets the ranch all to themselves.  It sounds simple, but once they’re out on the range, with tempers and passion flaring in the Texas heat, nothing goes as either of them expected, and they realize it’ll take a joint effort to catch Mason.

Can they work together to keep the ranch, or will their past get in the way of their future?

~*~ unedited excerpt: after Tripp and Reggie have found out they must work together to catch Mason.

“I expected you hours ago,” she said, exasperation heavy in her tone.

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Hardly,” she said with a delicate snort. 

Yet her eyelids lowered as her gaze swept down and up, taking stock of the comfortable tee shirt and jeans he’d worn for the long drive from Galveston.  Something flickered in her eyes; something hot he instinctively recognized as more dangerous than a rattle snake.  She shut it down quick and lifted her chin so her cute little nose stuck in the air.

“And now that I can see there’s no danger to Grandma, I’ll see you in the morning.” 

Her bare feet whispered across the floor toward the stairs.  He opened his mouth, then closed it.  Shut up.  Don’t go there.  Don’t—

Her right foot hit the bottom stair, her nightgown swaying with the enticing movement of her hips.

“What about you?”

She paused and turned.  “What?”

Hooking one thumb in the front pocket of his jeans, he took slow, measured steps across the floor.  Tension spread through him like the flush sweeping across her pale skin.  Her fingers tangled in the material of her gown, tugging the hem lower as he came to a stop in front of her.  Unfortunately, she also succeeded in lowering the neckline.  The thud of his bag dropping to the floor made her flinch.

Tripp lowered his tone.  “You said there’s no danger to Nana, but what about you?”

“Th—” 

Her voice cracked and her throat muscles worked fast.  He dropped his gaze to the rapid pulse beating at the base of her neck. 

“I’m f-fine.”

He lifted a hand to the rosy skin of her neck; felt her life beat beneath his finger tip.  Anticipation hummed along his nerve endings, making him excruciatingly aware of every shallow breath she took.  “Fine doesn’t begin to cover it, Princess.”

When he slid his fingers into her silky hair to rub the back of her neck, her eyelids lowered, then closed.  Her hands rose to press against his chest.  God, he was pretty sure he hated her, and yet he damn sure wanted her.  It was the craziest thing.  He shifted closer, slid his other hand over the curve of her hip to press against the small of her back, leaned in to inhale the evocative scent of peaches.  The heat of her skin burned through the thin, satiny material of her nightgown to warm his hand where it rested along her spine.

His mouth hovered above her moist lips, his unsteady breath mingling with hers.  He started to close the distance.

“You hate me,” she whispered, her hands fisting in his shirt.

“Such a strong word—hate,” he murmured, even though he’d just thought it. 

Forgoing her mouth, he lightly brushed his lips over her smooth cheek with its charming freckles.  It wasn’t enough.  With the hand buried in her hair, he angled her head to give him access to the delicate column of her neck.  He pressed his tongue to her pulse, licked, then sucked gently.  She made a small noise deep in her throat.  His body throbbed in response as his arm curled tighter around her waist.

“You…d-don’t like me, then.”

Stubborn witch wouldn’t let it go.  That hadn’t changed.  He worked his way back to her mouth.  “Do you like me?”

Her violet eyes opened and locked with his, making his heart thump hard. 

“Don’t mess with me, Tripp.  Please.”  The sincerity in her voice was astounding.

“Who’s messing?” he asked, making light of her plea while brushing his thumb over her lower lip.  He wanted to taste her so bad, and she just wouldn’t shut up.

“You’re going to take the ranch from me—this isn’t playing fair.”

The reminder of what was at stake in this game was just what he needed.  He lowered his head to whisper against her mouth.  “Like you played fair all those years ago?”

In a heartbeat, she stiffened and shoved against his chest to be free.  Tripp held on; let her see who held the control now.  Her eyes widened, and then darkened with a fury that turned him on even more.  They stared at each other, breathing uneven, hearts pounding. 

And just like that, something changed.  Struck his chest so deep inside it terrified him.  He released her and spun away as she grabbed the railing for balance.  He braced a hand on the wall and hung his head, fighting for a lungful of air. 

“Go to bed,” he rasped.  “We leave at dawn.”

She didn’t reply.  When he snuck a glance, she was halfway up the stairs, white silk panties playing peek-a-boo with the hem of her nightgown.  Tripp uttered a low groan and made for the porch like the hounds of hell were on his heels.