Wild Hearts

Book 2: Hamilton Stables Novel

by Melissa West

Genres: Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance; Western Romance

Synopsis

In the lush heart of Kentucky, horse racing is king, and the Hamilton family is royalty, born to produce champions. Maybe that’s because they understand wildness better than most… Charming, reckless, and restless, youngest brother Alex Hamilton has a reputation for sweet talking his way into any woman’s arms—and failing at anything to do with the family business. So when he   commits to managing their new breeding operation, it’s under one condition: he’ll focus on work and nothing else—no distractions, no fun…no women.  But just when Alex has promised to keep his hands to himself, sweet, sexy Kate Littleton gallops away with his heart… Kate knows Alex isn’t the long-term type—he proved that in a lot of delicious ways when they first met more than a year ago. But seeing him blazing with new dedication to Hamilton Stables, she can’t deny that he’s miles ahead of any other man who interests her. The attraction between them is electric right out of the gate, but it will take an unexpected loss to put them back in the race and headed for a passionate future together… Praise for Melissa West’s Racing Hearts “An emotional story filled with heart, humor, and second chances, Racing Hearts is a love letter to small towns, southern pride, and the heartbeat of all tight communities—its strong families. I laughed, I cried, and I never wanted to leave. An incredible story!”- - Rachel Harris, New York Times bestselling author

Release date: February 16, 2016

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 196

Sample

Alex Hamilton groaned as he rolled over in bed, the taste of gin still on his lips, his throat cottony from a hangover he couldn’t afford to have. A manufactured floral scent floated in the air, and his stomach roiled. Cursing himself, he sat up and immediately groaned again at the ringing in his ears and the pain slicing through the center of his brain. Why the hell did he drink? He’d asked himself that single question on more occasions than he could count, each one with the same answer—no damn clue. And no damn sense.

Pushing out of his sheets, he stood, stretching his long and lean body until the joints in his back cracked, then started for the shower as his foot hit a pair of boots on the floor. Boots that weren’t his and weren’t men’s, for that matter. He lifted one very tall black boot into the air, curious how anyone managed to walk on such a high heel but being thankful all the same, because damn, he loved a woman in knee-high boots. All this went through his mind without much thought still as to who the boots belonged to, until he heard someone clearing her throat from behind him. Shit. Please tell me she isn’t still in my—

“Good morning, handsome.”

Dammit.

Alex turned slowly to find a very blond woman in his bed. She couldn’t be more than five two or so, had golden tan skin, and the sort of face that never much needed makeup, yet she slathered it on all the same. Black splotches covered her under eyes from mascara or liner or whatever the hell women put on their eyes. She looked young—too young really. Young enough that he wondered if he’d ever stopped to ask her age.

As though she read his thoughts, she stepped out of the bed, not caring to cover her naked body, which didn’t sit well with Alex. There was once a time when he would have appreciated such audacity, but that time had long since come and gone. He missed female modesty and soft smiles, the looks and actions of a Southern lady. The kind of lady his mother would have liked if she were still alive. And in two years he’d only been with one woman who met that description, but she’d walked away, or maybe he’d walked away. Still, over a year later he wasn’t sure which of them had actually left.

But taking in the woman before him, Alex found her nakedness grated on his nerves. Of course he, too, stood with nothing on, and feeling a tinge of unease about that fact, he crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the woman.

Her gaze dipped down to his lower half, still very exposed despite the whole crossing-his-arms thing. “It’s Brittany, and I’m twenty-two,” she said, bouncing with each word, a triumphant smile on her face.

Alex almost laughed, unsure if he should congratulate her or show her out. He’d never heard someone reveal her age with such pride. Again, he wondered what the hell he was doing. He had to be at the foaling barn in an hour, and knowing his brother, he was already—

Before he could finish his thought, his cell vibrated against the nightstand. He glanced over, not wanting to take the call in front of the girl, but then he caught Trip’s name flashing across the screen. Not answering would only result in another call, which made Alex wonder if Trip managed the whole farm in this obsessive way or just him? Something told him it was just him.

“Look,” he said to Brittany, “I hate to play and run, but I’ve got a busy schedule and—” The phone vibrated again, supporting his story.

“Play and run? You’ve got to be kidding me.” She grabbed up her clothes and jerked her dress down over her body, hopping as she pulled on her boots. “Play and run! Who even says that? I’ll see myself out.” Then she stopped at the door and spun around. “And when Trip asks why I quit, just let him know I refused to work with his jackass of a brother.”

She slammed the door shut and Alex cringed, searching his mind for a Brittany who worked at the farm, and that was when he remembered his conversation with Trip the week before. New exercise rider Brittany Light. Well, there went that.

Taking his phone from his nightstand, he texted his brother that he’d see him in twenty, then jumped in the shower to wash off his night, his thoughts on the week he had before him. Calls with two stud farms, vet checks on the broodmares, and hopefully a flight out to Ireland later in the week to buy a new stallion.

And he still hadn’t made the decision everyone was waiting on him to make—choosing the studs for the McKendricks’ broodmares. He had two perfectly good options in his stallion barn, ready to go, one already producing champions, so what was the problem? The problem was that he’d long since known that breeding was less science, more art, and he was close to finding the perfect balance. He didn’t want to rush it. The McKendricks’ name held weight in the industry. So much so that a nod from them would guarantee the farm business for years to come. He couldn’t make a mistake with their horses; anyone’s but theirs. If only he could keep Trip off his back long enough to think without all the doubts clouding his judgment.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, he stepped out of the shower only to hear his cell vibrate against his nightstand again. Sighing, he hit Answer and said, “Give me ten,” before hanging up and walking to his closet, throwing on a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, and shoving on his boots. Shaking out his hair as a means of styling it, he went to work brushing his teeth, curious how the day had just begun and it was already shit. That didn’t bode well for his week.

Alex ran a hand over his face as he went through the rest of his morning routine—black coffee, notepad, and pencil. He liked the quiet he felt whenever he jotted down notes. That same quiet never came when he entered things into his phone or iPad. So notepad and pencil for him.

Once out in his three-car garage, he eyed his diesel truck, Vette, and Harley, shaking his head a little that his life required him to walk past three manly vehicles. Instead, he hopped into a small golf cart, but at least he was out of his house. Well, technically Trip’s house, but Alex liked to ignore that fact, especially when he was pissed at Trip. And he was heading straight for pissed territory now. It was time he had a conversation with his brother about all the calls—either he trusted him or he didn’t. But the thing was, he might say he didn’t, and then what?

Alex pushed the thought away and set off down the winding road that led to his, Trip’s, and their father’s house, then cut left toward the main barn. The sky was dark in places, light in others, the day unsure of its official starting time, like Mother Nature had hit Snooze.

He knew the feeling.

Mama V greeted him as he stopped the cart by her house. Her gray hair was pulled back into a low bun, like always, her face cheery despite the early hour. Mama V’s kitchen was forever flowing, breakfast, lunch, and dinner, every day. Supposedly, she’d made Alex and Trip’s mother a promise before she died that she would keep the boys fed, and she’d made it her mission to keep the promise.

“How are you this morning, V?” Alex asked as he reached for the protein shake she’d made for him.

“Sky’s up, can’t complain.”

He smiled. “Something tells me my brother wouldn’t agree with you.”

“Ah, he never really has, and I’ve never really cared. You might try the same.” She winked.

Alex’s smile turned into a laugh, and he was thankful he’d stopped there before heading on to the foaling barn. He needed a little kindness before he faced whatever doom lay before him.

Resigned that he couldn’t delay any longer, he continued on to the foaling barn, where sure enough, his brother’s truck had been parked at an angle—proving that he ran the farm and could park wherever and however the hell he liked. It irritated Alex to no end, but instead of lashing out, he reminded himself that the breeding side of Hamilton Stables could more than triple the earnings of training. Alex might be the youngest Hamilton brother, but if his plan worked, he would bring in the most profit for the family business this year. And then what would they have to say? Nothing, that’s what.

“ ’Bout damn time.” Trip walked out of the foaling barn, his Stetson firmly planted on his head, the same cowboy boots he always wore around the farm on his feet. A red-and-black plaid shirt hung loose over his Levis, and though to some he might appear to be an ignorant hick, those in the business knew the truth: Trip was the best trainer in horse racing.

Among owners, Alex felt the weight of his brother’s name following him around like a dark shadow that refused to lift. He introduced himself, and immediately owners asked, “Trip’s brother, right?” He’d have no choice but to agree, but for Christ’s sake, there were three Hamilton brothers, not one, and it was time he and Nick receive the respect they deserved.

Pushing aside his bitter thoughts, he opened his mouth to say that he wasn’t late, Trip was early, but then he noticed the two women standing a few yards away from his brother, and suddenly Alex’s throat refused to work properly.

“Hey, there. Doing okay today?” Emery, Trip’s fiancée, asked him as she started over. At five foot nothing and barely over a hundred pounds, she looked like a child beside Trip, but her size fit her job well. She was a rider for Hamilton Stables, and her father was the legendary Hall-of-Fame trainer Beckett Carlisle. Which meant Trip and Emery’s relationship owned the title of most unexpected match, but there they were, head over heels in love, wedding date six months away.

But while his eyes were on his future sister-in-law now, she wasn’t the woman who’d caught his attention.

His gaze drifted over and refused to lift from the bright redhead beside Emery, her skin as fair as milk except for the occasional freckle. Her eyes were so intensely blue Alex found it difficult to look at her without his mouth falling slack. She wore a simple blue and white cotton dress that hit midthigh, her look so out of place on the farm a normal woman might feel self-conscious, but Alex would bet this woman had never felt self-conscious a day in her life. Why would she? To date, he’d never met a woman who held a candle to her.

“Alex,” she said, her voice soft, a hint of modesty there that he’d never understood but cut through him all the same.

He nodded back. “Kate.”

Kate Littleton stared at the man she’d had sex with not eighteen months before, curious if he still looked the same underneath his perfectly fitted T-shirt and jeans.

She tried to remember why she’d ended their dating streak, and then the memory came to her like a spoon full of vinegar. Alex had freaked out when Trip and Emery became serious. Something about complications and awkwardness and other words that really meant freak-out on aisle seven. No really, it meant he had no real feelings for her anyway, which was fine, she was fine. Great, even. But the part that had always gnawed at her was that she didn’t want anything from him beyond a chance to spend time with him. Just his time, and was that really so much to ask for?

See, despite the arrogant vibe he put out there, Alex was a genuinely sweet and funny guy. She enjoyed being around him, enjoyed his laugh, enjoyed the way the conversation never became stilted. He had a carefree spirit and a sharp mind that could fascinate her with a single comment, then he’d smirk like he knew just what he’d done. But Alex just didn’t see himself clearly. Shadowed by his brothers, he’d spent his whole life climbing a hill that only rose higher with each step.

But instead of telling him as much or trying to make him see, she’d said goodbye. She’d rather turn him loose than trust her heart to keep its word to her and remain unaffected.

So one day they sat on his couch watching the Falcons play, both of them screaming at the TV and laughing like old friends, and the next day he was a stranger.

Eighteen months had gone by without a word, which was fine. Completely and totally fine. Kate had things to do. Students to teach. Plays to plan out. Little league games to attend. She didn’t need Alex Hamilton, but she did want someone. She wanted the movie experience, the soft kisses and walks on the beach and happily-ever-afters.

If only she could find the right man to fill the job.

“We were just heading out,” Kate said, suddenly uneasy standing before a man who so clearly didn’t want the job. “Em?”

Emery’s gaze shifted from Kate to Alex and then back, her eyebrows lifting. From the age of twelve, Kate had told Emery every detail of her life. Every detail except those that concerned Alex Hamilton. She could almost hear Emery’s brain churning, unspoken question after unspoken question hitting in her mind.

“Caterer tomorrow morning at nine,” Emery said to Trip, before rising onto her toes to give him a quick peck on the lips. Only he was having no part of quick and held her to him, giving her the sort of kiss Kate knew would embarrass Emery thoroughly. But instead of her friend reprimanding him as she pulled away, she smiled that smile of someone deeply smitten and said, “I love you.”

He kissed her again. “I love you more.”

For a second, Kate couldn’t decide if she wanted to grin at her best friend’s love antics or roll her eyes. It’d make it a lot easier if she had her own guy to kiss and smile at it, but instead all she had was bad date after bad date.

Just last week, she’d accepted Grayson Pierce’s offer to go out. He was fine-looking and came from a good family. What could go wrong? Everything, that’s what. From his inability to eat with his mouth closed, two—no three—belches during dinner, and the spaghetti stain on his white golf shirt, Kate would sooner go out by herself than experience another disaster like that.

If only . . .

Her gaze landed on Alex, but then again she’d been there, done that, had the scar on her heart to prove it. Oh well, it was for the best.

The sounds of others arriving at the farm echoed all around them, reminding Kate just how out of place she was there. Emery belonged here, not her. She focused on a small anthill in a patch of grass by the barn and refused to look up, though she ached to see if Alex was watching her. If he remembered their time together fondly or if she’d been another notch on his conquest belt, long since forgotten.

“Alex?” Emery called.

When he didn’t answer, Kate looked up, only to find him focused inside the barn, already tuning everything else out.

“Earth to Alex?” Emery repeated.

He turned then, but Kate could tell his thoughts had long since left the threesome and were focused on the mare in the barn, scheduled to foal that day. “Yeah?”

“We wanted to have the wedding party over to Trip’s tomorrow for a barbeque. Will you come?”

His eyes drifted almost imperceptibly to Kate, but the impact on her was immediate. How that man could lock her in place with one gaze blew her mind. Trip might be the leader of the Hamilton family, but he didn’t have that thoughtful glint in his eyes like Alex. Like his mind worked out complex puzzles the rest of them couldn’t even see. It intrigued Kate, and also scared her. A mind like that would never feel content in one place, and it was likely the reason he’d gone from college to college, job to job, unable to sit still, unable to settle down.

Like a wild stallion, his heart would never beat easily unless it was running.

“The wedding party?”

Trip shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly uneasy, but Kate didn’t want this to get awkward. She was fine. They should be fine, too. This didn’t have to get uncomfortable. So she and Alex hung out a few times. They’d been more friends than anything else.

“Yes, come.” She bit her lip and forced herself to focus on him.

Alex smirked back at her. “Is that an order, Ms. Littleton?”

She smiled back, enjoying the easiness that slipped into his eyes. “That’s right, teacher’s orders. Besides, Trip promised to have one of Patty’s Bundt cakes there, and I know you can’t resist cake.”

Their gazes locked.

“No . . . I can’t.”

Instantly, Kate’s thoughts went to the last slice of cake they’d shared, him asking for a bite, a wicked spark in his eyes, and then her lifting her fork to his lips. That perfect mouth of his wrapped around her fork, his eyes on hers, and suddenly the plate clanged onto the floor and he had her in his lap, their hands everywhere, lips connecting, tongues intertwining.

It’d taken a surprisingly small amount of time to undress each other, and even less time to shove the nagging voice in her head to the corner, ordering her to shut her eyes if she didn’t want to watch. Because Kate needed that night. She needed it like she needed to breathe. And though a part of her wanted more, she knew that night would be the last one for them.

“So, it’s settled. Seven good for everyone? And maybe we should have two cakes,” Emery said, her expression thoughtful. “That way we’ll have plenty.”

Alex turned back for the barn. “Nah, I’ll just share some of Kate’s.” He winked at her, then started for the barn again, when Kate called out.

“Actually, I share my cake with someone else now.” The words were out so fast she didn’t have time to think about what she’d said or what she’d say next. Which was the real problem with lying—there was never just one. You had to build on the lie, explain and create, and then how would you ever remember all those d. . .