Book 1: Montana Rodeo Brides
“Let me get this straight, you both are going with the theory that the old man’s pulling our chain?” Bodhi demanded. “That this is some kind of game to him?”
“It’s possible,” Bowen mused.
Beck’s tension cranked because Bowen was the most levelheaded, analytical person he knew. If he was worried, it was time to worry.
“So, if it’s a game…” Bodhi swung around to face the room and his arms stretched like wings along the bar. His lazy sprawl was definitely noted. The women in the two booths all turned as one and stared. Several preened.
Beck nearly swore. The last thing they needed tonight of all nights when Beck felt like he was crawling out of his skin was Bodhi hip-deep in flirt.
“Let’s play a little game with him.” Bodhi took the three beers Jason had plunked down loudly, popped off the tops, and handed them out. “Drink up,” he advised, his eyes—so like their grandfather’s piercing blue with a darker navy ring around the iris that was startling and a little unnerving—glinted with purpose. “I’ve thought of a fun game we could play.”
Bowen finally took a swig of his beer. “We need a plan, not a game.”
“We’re Ballantynes. We make a game of everything. Hell—” Bodhi took another deep pull “—Granddad taught us how to compete practically out of our mothers’ wombs.”
It was harder to hear with the bar filling up. The music kicked up louder and the pool games were in full swing.
“He’s not selling.” Beck wanted the words to be real.
“Not if we can persuade him to stay put.” Bodhi grinned. “I say we call his bluff.”
“How?”
“What’s Granddad all about?”
Beck would have said the ranch.
“What? I’m the only one who listened up in college? Took a psych class?” Bodhi taunted them. “Family. Granddad is all about family.”
Bowen and Beck nodded.
Bodhi slapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously. “Who’s in?”
“Me.”
“Me.”
Beck and Bowen spoke in unison.
Bodhi’s eyes glinted with a wicked light.
“What’s the game?” Beck and Bowen both demanded.
“Marriage,” Bodhi said flatly.
“Marriage isn’t a game,” Beck objected.
“It can be.” Bodhi jangled with unleashed tension. “We can all play. We’ll call it the Rodeo Brides Game.”
“You were just hand to God-ing it that you would never, ever get married,” Beck reminded him, although that pronouncement alone should doom Bodhi to getting hitched by the end of the Copper Mountain Rodeo.
“I won’t. But I can bring a fiancée home to the Ballantyne Bash.”
“You’re not even dating,” Beck scoffed.
“What’s dating got to do with it? The winner of the game is the first one to bring home a future bride to Granddad.”
“And then what?” Bowen asked skeptically.
“Granddad can stop worrying that the Ballantyne legacy is in peril. He’ll know the next generation of Ballantynes is on the way. The moms won’t be able to sway him to sell.”
“What are the rules?” Beck crossed his arms. This was going to be good. Not.
“First one to get engaged wins, but Granddad has to believe it.”
“What’s the prize?” Bowen asked.
Beck glared at Bowen. He wasn’t actually considering this stupidity? But he was. Bodhi looked lit from within, radiating an ‘I dare you’ that had gotten them in trouble more than a few times over the years.
Bowen’s eyes were flinty and narrowed. A muscle in his jaw ticked.
A recklessness swarmed over Beck as his competitive nature, the one that had always driven him to keep up and then try to surpass his cousins, kicked in.
“Plum Hill,” Beck said feeling reckless and wanting to stop the madness.