One in a Million

Book 1: Rivalries

by Janet Dailey

Genres: Sports Romance

Synopsis

Yellowstone meets Dallas against the backdrop of Texas horse country, as the death of a patriarch leaves his rich and powerful ranching family dynasty at odds, a high-stakes reining competition in the balance, and forbidden attractions in the mix.

Fans of Linda Lael Miller, Danielle Steel, and Diana Palmer will devour this soapy saga filled to the brim with Texas-style drama, corruption, money, and sizzling affairs.

Frank Culhane may be the wealthy patriarch of one of Texas’ most prestigious families, but his party girl daughter, Jasmine, is only interested in the money the ranch brings in—and the cowboys. Until the day she heads to the stables in search of their hot horse trainer and instead discovers her daddy’s body in their prize stallion’s box stall.

Roper’s rodeo career was cut short by an injury. Now, he’s hungry to compete in reining events, like the prized forthcoming Run for a Million. In the meantime, until his family can afford their own breeding business, he’s got to work for the rich ranchers who snub them—including the Culhanes. But when an autopsy reveals Frank was murdered, Roper lands on the list of possible suspects.

A city outsider, Detective Sam Rafferty’s investigation propels him into a tangle of simmering rivalries. For the ranch is now in the hands of an explosive partnership: Frank’s young, glamourous second wife, Lila, and his scorned first wife, Madeline. Lila has a genuine passion for ranching. Madeline is determined to destroy her.

Through Sam’s interviews, more tensions surface—there are Madeline’s grown children who’ve been bypassed for control of the ranch, the socially dismissed McKennas, and the breeders, politicians, and gangsters ready to profit from Frank’s death. But tricky alliances are also brewing. While Lila and Roper clash, they discover a fire beneath their sparring. And with a killer still at large, the heat between Jasmine and Sam could put the case, and all their futures, on the line . . .

Release date: January 23, 2024

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 336

Sample

Summer had arrived early. It was barely the end of May, but the season already promised to be a scorcher. The Texas plains sizzled under a blazing sky. Heat waves shimmered above the scrubby yellow landscape. A rattlesnake, coiled in the shadow of a mesquite, stirred, then slithered into the deeper cool of an empty badger hole.

Mirages swam like water over the narrow asphalt road that branched off Highway 277 and led to the Culhane Ranch and Stables. But Lila Culhane knew better than to be fooled by these, or by mirages of a different sort, like the illusion of a solid marriage.

Lila had paid the investigator she’d hired and tucked the damning evidence into her purse. The only remaining question was when and how to use it. Did she want to keep Frank? Did she want to punish him? Or maybe both?

The AC was blasting air from the vents of Lila’s white Porsche 911 Carrera, but the silk blouse she wore still clung like glue to her skin. When she reached up to brush back a lock of tastefully streaked blond hair, she could smell her own sweat. She stank like an oil rig worker.

At thirty-eight, she was no longer the teen queen who’d won the Miss Idaho pageant nor the Vegas showgirl who’d lured a rich Texas rancher away from his middle-aged wife. But she still looked good. She’d kept her figure and taken care of her skin. She’d given him everything he wanted in bed; and for the past eleven years of their marriage, she’d been one hundred percent faithful to the bastard.

She’d even shared his passion for horses—at first, as a way to catch his attention, then later as a genuine enthusiast. Either way, she’d given Frank no cause to be sneaking around.

Lila’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. Frank deserved the worst punishment she could give him. But first she had to take care of her own needs.

Too bad about that prenup she’d been forced to sign. Without it, she could hire a lawyer and take him to the cleaners, just as his first wife had done. But no such luck. If she were to divorce Frank, she’d probably end up living in a two-room flat and driving a ten-year-old Chevy.

In the distance, through the blur of heat waves, she could see the stately white house and the vast horse complex—the covered arena, the stable with its fifty-four stalls and attached treatment facility, the breeding shed, the round pen for breaking horses, and the well-watered paddocks where spring colts frolicked under the watchful eyes of their dams. The distant pastures were dotted with black Angus cattle, an important cash source that enabled Frank to focus on his real passion, working with the champion quarter horses he bred, raised, and showed in reining and cutting competitions.

Even before they were married, Lila had understood that the horses were Frank’s first love. For eleven years she’d settled for second place in his heart, learning to understand the sport and cheering him on at every reining event. But now everything had changed.

Lila ran a hand over the back of her neck. Her palm came away slicked with moisture. Damnation, but she hated this infernal heat—almost as much as she hated Frank.

What she craved now was a dip in the pool behind the house, followed by an ice-cold mojito under the shade of the pergola. But that wasn’t likely to happen. Not as long as Frank’s daughter, Jasmine, was staying in the house awaiting a call from her phantom Hollywood agent.

Jasmine had made the pool and patio her own little kingdom. She might tolerate a visit from her father or her brother, Darrin. But when Lila was around, Jasmine radiated pure, seething hostility. The great house was her castle. As Frank Culhane’s daughter, she was its princess; and her stepmother was the wicked queen.

Lila sighed as she swung the car off the road and up the long driveway, bordered with drooping magnolias. Frank and his daughter had always been close. If Jasmine knew about Frank’s affair, she was probably cheering him on.

Back in her upstairs bedroom, Lila gazed out the window that overlooked the pool. Visible from below the roof of the pergola, she could see a pair of suntanned legs and manicured feet adorned with electric blue toenails. The princess had staked out her territory. And a swim wasn’t worth the price of dealing with her sidelong glares and verbal jabs.

Lila still craved the mojito. But she would drink it in her private office, after a shower. Seated at her desk, she would rake over Frank’s betrayal, until she’d worked up enough rage to do what had to be done.

The covered arena stood thirty yards back from the rear of the house, with the attached stable beyond. Jasmine had angled the lounge chair to give her the best view of the cowboys doing chores and riding her father’s blooded performance quarter horses. Here on the ranch, with nowhere to go and not much to do, it was the best live entertainment to be had.

Not that she was complaining. Most of the cowboys were either kids or old hands, but some of the men were handsome enough to stir her interest. Jasmine took pleasure in devouring them with her eyes—and if they caught her watching, what was the harm? They enjoyed the game as much as she did.

In the past, she might have done more than watch. At thirty, she was wiser and more discreet than in her younger years. Still, now and then, a man would show up who was hot enough to dampen her panties—like that tall, dark-headed trainer who’d hired on since the last time she was here.

Jasmine had done her homework. Roper McKenna was the firstborn son of the scab-knuckled family who’d bought the small ranch fifteen miles from the Culhane property. In the two years since their move from a Colorado cow town, the McKennas had remained outsiders, ignored by their wealthy Texas neighbors. They drove old cars and trucks, bought their clothes at Walmart, and were never invited to barbecues or joined for neighborly chats.

The McKennas were all right. They just weren’t what you’d call quality folk. It was almost as if they were invisible—except for the one thing that set them apart.

The four younger McKenna siblings—three brothers and a sister—had taken the national PRCA rodeo scene by storm, winning every event from barrel racing to bull riding. They’d even appeared on the cover of Sports Illustrated.

According to an article Jasmine had Googled, Roper’s bronc riding career had ended years ago with a spectacular wreck at the National Finals Rodeo in Vegas. Sidelined for months, he’d taken a job at a stable, exercising high-strung show horses. That was when he’d discovered a natural gift—a way of fostering trust between horse and rider that produced winners in the arena and brought in prize money for wealthy owners like Frank Culhane.

Jasmine shifted in her chair, shading her eyes to get a better view of the cowboy who’d caught her fancy. She knew that Roper was good at his job—otherwise her daddy wouldn’t have hired him to train his precious horses. But truth be told, Jasmine wouldn’t have cared if Roper couldn’t swing his leg over a horse’s rump. The man was so hot that she could feel the sizzle all the way across the yard.

This afternoon, Roper was riding Frank’s retired champion American quarter horse, One in a Million. Over the years, the big bay roan had competed in showing and cutting events for prize winnings of over a million dollars. But his real value to the ranch lay in his prowess as a stud. Since his retirement from the show arena, the winnings of his colts and fillies and their offspring had totaled more than four million dollars. A straw of his frozen semen sold for more than a thousand, his IVF embryos with eggs from a champion mare went for several times that. His fee for a live breeding was listed in the EquiStat Stallion Registry at $10,000, although live breeding was rarely performed here at the ranch. If Roper had his way, the dangerous practice would cease entirely.

At the age of thirteen, One in a Million could still perform the strenuous spins, patterns, and sliding stops that had made him a champion. But the demands of the arena were judged too risky for his aging body. He was given a special diet and exercised every day to keep him healthy and fit for the breeding shed.

A smile curved Jasmine’s lips as Roper loped the stallion around the arena. The horse still had his elegant moves. The speed it took to win might have tapered off. But the man was a master, putting the great horse through his paces with subtle moves of his hands, knees, and feet. She wouldn’t mind getting a closer look. But the timing was wrong today. There were too many people around. Roper would be tired and wanting to finish his work. And today, after a hard swim in the pool, she was a stringy-haired, red-eyed mess.

Roper usually arrived at work early in the morning. That would be the best time for her to take a stroll and bump into him—purely by chance, of course.

She laughed, imagining the surprise on his handsome face. She’d tried more than once to catch his eye. So far, he’d seemed unaware of her. But Jasmine knew her way around men, and she knew how to get herself noticed. She looked forward to the challenge.

It was a long-standing custom for the Culhane family to eat dinner together every Friday night. The tradition had started two generations ago when a giant oak tree on the ranch was felled by lightning. Frank’s grandfather, Elias Culhane, had declared the strike an act of God, sliced a long, diagonal section of the trunk and had it made into a table for the family dining room. It had been Elias—a preacher’s son—who’d given orders that hereafter, his descendants should sit down at the table and share a weekly meal in peace, harmony, and love.

Nobody crossed Elias, not even decades after his death. But over the years, peace, harmony, and love had become a joke. And the table had become more of a Friday night battleground.

Wearing a yellow sundress, with her fiery hair twisted into a high bun, Jasmine surveyed her family around the table. Not a bad-looking bunch. But in other respects . . .

“Hey, sis, what have you heard from that fancy agent of yours?” Darrin, her brother, was seated across from her. “Is Ron Howard still begging you to come and star in his big movie?”

Butthead. Always was, always would be. And as usual, he knew right where to jab. “I’m still weighing my options,” she said. “How’s that Supreme Court nomination coming? Any word from the president?”

“Good one, sis.” Darrin was four years older than Jasmine. Redheaded like his sister and their mother, he kept an office in the house he rented in the nearby town of Willow Bend, but the ranch had always been his home, just as his destiny had long since been carved out as the Culhane family lawyer.

“Actually, Jasmine, your brother has a point.” Simone, Darrin’s petite blond bride, was from Dallas oil money via finishing school. “Get real, honey. You’re never going to make it as a movie star. Find yourself a job—or better yet, find a man who’ll take care of you and give you some babies to raise. You’re not getting any younger.”

Jasmine caught the amorous glance that passed between the newlyweds. Heavenly days, was Simone already pregnant?

Anxious to change the subject, Jasmine spoke to her father, who sat at the head of the table.

“Daddy, have you chosen your horse for the Run for a Million?”

Frank Culhane speared a second slice of prime rib, taking his time to answer. He was a strikingly handsome man—his body fit, his hair thick and streaked with silver. A respected trainer and champion rider, he was still winning cash prizes at reining events. This past March, at the Cactus Classic in Scottsdale, he had qualified to be one of sixteen top riders in the biggest reining event of the year—the Run for a Million, to take place later that summer at South Point Arena in Las Vegas.

“It’s too soon to decide,” he said. “The Run for a Million won’t happen until mid-August. There’s plenty of time.”

“Come on, I know you, Dad,” Jasmine teased. “Give me a hint. Is it Million Dollar Baby?”

He shrugged. “Can’t say. You know the drill. I’ll be taking three horses to the competition, two of them as backup. I probably won’t make my final decision until the night of the competition. Meanwhile, I’ll be riding in two other events. That should help narrow down the choice.”

Yes, Jasmine knew the drill. She’d grown up in stables and arenas where both her parents were competing for prize money. Not all Jasmine’s memories were happy. Sometimes the tension between her parents would get so heavy that she could almost taste it in the air. Maybe that was why, although she was a capable rider, she’d never wanted to compete.

In reining events, each rider chose the horse to show. And there were rules. A horse could be shown by its owner, a family member, or an employee. A trainer without a suitable horse could lease one from an owner or ride a client’s horse. Prize money would be split between the owner, the rider, and usually the runners-up.

“When are you going to retire, Dad?” Darrin asked. “You’ll be the oldest rider in this year’s competition. Isn’t it time you stepped back and let the next generation take over?”

“Some of your trainers are good enough to win,” Jasmine said. “Look at Roper. When he rides, it’s as if he creates a mind link with the horses. Put him on a winner and he could make some serious money for the ranch. When are you going to give him a chance?”

Frank chuckled. “After I win the Run for a Million, I’ll think about it. But don’t talk to me about retiring. I’d rather die in the saddle than in a rocking chair or, heaven forbid, in some blasted hospital bed. Give me my horses and the thrill of competing for a prize. For me, that’s heaven.”

“I understand, Dad. But you’re not as young as you used to be. We want you to take care of yourself.”

Jasmine did understand, although she knew better than to speak the truth. Frank enjoyed being the center of attention. He didn’t want anybody stealing his thunder in the arena—especially a younger employee who was probably a better rider than his boss. And Frank wouldn’t be too keen on sharing the prize money either, or having his best trainer quit for a better offer.

One person at the table hadn’t spoken. Lila sat at Frank’s left, toying with the food on her plate. She was a stunning woman, tall and elegant, her stylishly streaked hair tied back with a silk scarf. Usually she held her own in the weekly dinner table conversations. But tonight she appeared troubled.

Whatever was wrong, the bitch deserved it, Jasmine told herself. She had hated her stepmother from the moment she’d set foot in the great house and started redecorating. At first, Lila had tried to make friends with her husband’s daughter. But there could be no forgiveness for the woman who’d destroyed her parents’ marriage. After the first few months, Lila had abandoned her overtures and settled for cold civility.

The tension had eased when Jasmine left for L.A. to pursue acting and modeling work. But when she came home between gigs, it was as if she’d never been away.

Frank finished his pecan pie and stirred in his chair. “I’m going down to check on that mare who’s about to foal,” he said, turning to Lila. “If she’s in labor, I’ll stay with her, so don’t wait up for me.”

“Fine.” The word was spoken with no change in Lila’s expression. “Try not to wake me when you come in.”

“I won’t. I know my girl needs her beauty sleep.” He pushed his chair away from the table and stood. “’Night, all. If I’m not here in the morning, don’t come looking for me. I’ll just be with the mare or having coffee with the boys.”

“Do you want some company, Dad?” Jasmine asked. But Frank had left the room. In the kitchen, she heard him say a few words to the cook. Then the back door opened and closed as he headed outside. Never mind, Jasmine told herself as she excused herself and left the table. It was early, but she could read or watch TV for a while, then get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow morning, if she managed to catch up with Roper McKenna, things could get interesting.

As she washed her face and brushed her teeth, Simone’s words echoed in her memory.

You’re never going to make it as a movie star . . . Find a man who’ll take care of you. You’re not getting any younger.

Jasmine tried to shrug off the comment. Simone always seemed to be putting other people down. But what if she was right? Not about the man, of course. Jasmine’s marriage, at twenty, had been an eleven-month nightmare that had included an early miscarriage. She wasn’t in a hurry to try again, if ever. But the part about never making it as an actress had stung. True, she hadn’t been offered even a small movie part in more than six months. Even TV commercials, once her bread and butter, had dwindled to two or three a year. The agent call that never seemed to come had become a family joke.

She couldn’t live here and be Daddy’s baby doll forever. Maybe it was time she put on her big-girl panties and looked for other options.

But not tomorrow. Tomorrow, what she needed was a distraction—a tall, dark, and gorgeous distraction.

At 5:00 on Saturday morning, Roper pulled his battered Ford pickup into the Culhane Stables employee lot. After swigging the last of his coffee, he put the mug into the cup holder and climbed out of the truck to start the workday.

At any given time, there were between fifty and sixty horses on the Culhane Ranch. They belonged to Frank or to clients who paid to have their horses trained and boarded here. Some of the brood mares were pregnant or nursing foals. The other horses were required to be ridden every day.

The quarter horses currently in competition were usually trained by Frank. The rest of them—about forty animals, including the senior stallion, One in a Million—were Roper’s job. He decided which ones should be passed down to the assistant trainers. The rest were trained by Roper himself. By the time he’d exercised them all and put them through the turns, patterns, and slide stops of a reining display, the sun would be low in the sky.

Roper whistled an off-key tune as he strode toward the stable. The first rays of morning were painting the sky above the distant hills. Birds trilled from the pastures. A Mexican eagle flashed white-tipped wings as it swooped down on a rabbit in the yellow grass.

Roper liked his job, for now at least. Frank was a decent boss, and the pay was good. But he missed the clients and horses he’d left behind in Colorado, and he missed the freedom to compete. Frank had hired him on condition that he focus strictly on training and forget about entering contests. Roper had needed a good job close to home. Even more urgently, he’d needed an introduction to the big-money events. For now, he’d accepted the limitation. But he knew that he was good enough to hold his own in reining and cutting. Next year, he vowed, he’d be out there proving it. All he needed was knowing the right people and having the right horse.

As he entered the stable by the front door, Roper decided to start the day with a sharp dun mare at the far end. He would work his way forward, saving One in a Million for last. Riding the seasoned older stallion would be a relaxing way to end the day.

As usual, he was the first one here. By the time he’d wrapped the mare’s legs and saddled her, the stable hands and grooms had shown up—youngsters willing to shovel manure, haul feed, and rub down horses for their chance at a dream. They were local kids who lived in town, unlike the cowboys who tended cattle and slept in the bunkhouse.

Roper left the stall door open for the cleaner and rode the mare out of the barn into the spacious training arena. The dun mare was a client’s horse, three years old and in the early stages of training. Roper warmed her up, then started on circle patterns. She was smart, her hooves steady on the deep layer of sand, loam, and sawdust.

By now the sun was coming up. Giving the mare a pat and a moment’s rest, Roper found himself gazing toward the rear of the Culhane mansion. The patio was empty, sunlight sparkling on the surface of the pool. There was no sign of Frank’s glamorous daughter yet, but then, it was early.

He was aware that she watched him, but they’d never spoken. He didn’t even know her first name—but that didn’t matter because if they were to meet, he would address her as Miss Culhane, and he would keep his hands off her. If ever there was a shortcut to professional suicide, it was fooling around with the boss’s daughter—or worse, his wife.

Enjoy your day, Miss Culhane, he thought. You may be beautiful and sexy as hell, but I’ve been burned before, and it’s not going to happen again.

With that, he put the mare through one more pattern and rode her back inside, where the grooms waited to hose her down and put her away. His next horse was waiting, saddled, wrapped, and ready.

Dressed in jeans, boots, and a white shirt open to the third button, Jasmine strode down the corridor that separated the facing rows of stalls. The activity at the far end gave her hope that her timing was good. With luck, when Roper finished his ride, she’d be there to meet him. They wouldn’t be alone. That couldn’t be helped. But she had her story—and as the boss’s daughter, she could expect him to be agreeable.

As he rode in from the arena and swung off a filly, she stepped forward. Only then did he appear to notice her.

“Miss Culhane.” He tipped his hat. His eyes were dark gray, like clouds before a storm. His voice was cold to the point of indifference. “Is there something I can do for you?”

She gave him her most winning smile. “I know you’re working, so I won’t take much of your time. I’m just hoping you might be willing to do me a favor.”

“That depends. You’ve got five minutes to tell me about it. But no promises. I’m on the clock.”

“I understand.” She nodded, tilting her face at what she knew to be a flattering angle. “I promise to be on the clock, too. Cross my heart.” Her fingertip traced an X across her chest, its path meant to draw his gaze downward to the hollow between her breasts.

“I’m listening,” he said. “Go on.”

“I’ve enjoyed riding in the past,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind trying it again. But it’s been a few years, and I’ve forgotten most of what I used to know. I could use your help in choosing a horse, and riding it—it shouldn’t take long, and you’d be paid extra for your time, of course. Come by tonight, after work, and we can talk about it—maybe over dinner. There’s a nice steak house in Willow Bend. What do you say?”

She’d at least expected some interest. But his expression was as icy as ever. “Miss Culhane, I work for your father. You should take this up with him, not me. If he wants me to help you, as part of my job, fine. If not, you’ll have to find another way. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got horses to exercise.”

Turning away, he mounted the waiting stallion and headed back toward the arena.

The three grooms—two boys and a girl—had unsaddled the filly and were leading her to the wash station. The grooms had pretended to ignore the conversation, but they’d probably heard every word. Jasmine’s face burned with humiliation.

Fine, she told herself. If Roper expected her to ask her father, that was just what she would do. Frank usually said yes to whatever she wanted. Soon she would have Roper McKenna at her beck and call. And he wo. . .