I cannot wait for you to visit Infinity Ridge on June 16th! In the meantime, enjoy Lark and Tristan’s enemies to lovers banter that starts in chapter 1.
Chapter 1: Tristan
Sadie
I’m tracking your location and see you’re almost home.
I laugh once at the fact that she watches where I am all the freaking time. Kids.
My thumbs tap on the wheel of the truck as I focus on the road. It’s late, it’s raining, and I’m exhausted after driving six hours back from Wyoming, where I dropped off the eight horses we sold. Of course, five minutes after passing the border into Colorado, the rain started coming down. It hasn’t stopped—if anything, it’s only come down harder. Summer storms are really ruining plans as of late.
I turn off the familiar exit, winding to the left before coming to the one traffic light that sits at the edge of the boundary into my hometown of Infinity Ridge, and I finally feel some relief.
Home.
Almost.
Usually the views of the majestic Rocky Mountains that I can see with my eyes closed are like a welcome sign, but right now all I see is rain.
Lots of freaking rain.
I voice a text back to Sadie when I see it’s past ten already. I drove up to Wyoming yesterday, thinking it would be a quick drop-off, that I’d spend the night and be back on the road.
I am. You should be in bed. You have physical therapy tomorrow.
I can picture her rolling her eyes like all twelve-year-olds do when they think they’re twenty and can do what they want.
Lord knows my three sisters were always doing that whenever Mom or Dad tried to tell them what to do.
Sadie
I was waiting for you.
I’ll be home in twenty and then it’s lights out.
Sadie
Whatever you say, Daddy.
That’s a lie. I grab my coffee and toss the rest of it back, then see lights on the side of the road.
Only the vehicle is not all the way off to the side…
It’s still partially in the road.
I’m at a tight curve, and swerving into oncoming traffic could end in disaster.
Shit.
I hit the brakes, hoping the horse trailer doesn’t swing out and cause me to slide, but thankfully I have enough time that I come to a stop about five feet before I hit the truck.
The flashers are going, but with the rain I can’t see anything. Hopefully the driver is safe. I grab my jacket and get out of my truck, pulling my hat onto my head to give me a little relief from the downpour as I go to check on the stranded motorist.
I bang on the window, and the woman inside lowers it, already talking. “I’m so sorry. I know I’m in a bad spot, but I’m stuck in the mud and my tire…”
A light inside her truck turns on, and all I see is sable hair and the greenest eyes to ever exist. For a moment my heart, that organ that hasn’t worked right in years, starts to beat again. Then, as lightning stretches across the sky and recognition dawns, I realize who it is and let my heart go back to being dormant.
If I didn’t have bad luck, I’d have no luck.
Of course, the woman half pulled over with a flat tire is Lark Gatlin.
Lark, the most stunning, kind, and off-limits woman I know. There’s no way in hell I will ever be involved with anyone from her family. No thanks. I don’t need that kind of drama in my life. I have plenty between my daughter and my own family.
I tamp down the desire that always flows when I see her, and I glower, getting soaked. “Is flat,” I finish for her. Her wipers keep going, flicking water at me.
“It is. Thanks for stopping, Tristan, but I’ll be fine.”
Lark is the only Gatlin I am actually even willing to pause to help. If it were either of her dickhead brothers, I’d already be in my dry, warm truck. Their family has been the bane of my existence since the day I was born.
They’re selfish, arrogant, full of shit, and love nothing more than trying to make my family’s life a living hell.
Things go missing, we had instances of vandalism, and the cops show up at my farm every fucking week with some bullshit accusation that we’re targeting the Gatlins, when I’m pretty sure they’re the ones doing it themselves just to make us look like the bad guys.
Even with the generational hate between us, the idea of leaving her here doesn’t sit well with me.
“Is someone coming to help?” I ask.
“I’m sure they are as soon as they can.”
That’s a no. “I’m not going to leave you on the side of the road. Do you have any flares?”
She sighs. “No, I don’t.”
I imagine what my mother would say if she were still alive. She’d tell me to always do the right thing, especially for a lady, no matter what.
Sometimes it really sucks having parents who raised you to be a gentleman.
“Stay here. I’ll move my truck so we don’t all die, and then I’ll change your tire.”
“No! No, you don’t need to do that,” she argues, but I’m already walking away.
There’s no way I’m leaving her stranded on the side of the road.
Once I’m inside, I send a text to Sadie.
I’m going to be a little later. Someone is stuck and I need to help them. Go on to bed and I’ll wake you when I get home.
Sadie
Okay, Daddy. Be careful.
Always am, Cupcake.
I back up the trailer and truck a little, giving us some buffer so if anyone hits us, they’ll hit the empty horse trailer first. After that, I get out and head back to Lark.
Out of her truck, she’s trying to pull a sweatshirt over her head, but her tank top is getting soaked. “Seriously, you don’t need to help me.”
“Need to or not, I’m going to. Get in the truck so you don’t get drenched.”
“Too late. I’ll call my brothers or something.”
“You didn’t call them already?” I ask.
Lark huffs and wipes her wet hair off her face, then gives up on the sweatshirt and tosses it into the truck, since it wasn’t doing a damn thing to help anyway. “I was going to, but then you came, and I thought you were Jeremy, but he told me he didn’t want to drive in the storm…”
“Your boyfriend? You called him, and he didn’t want to come out because it’s raining?”
Her glare is sharp enough to slice, but I don’t give two shits. If my woman called and needed me, I would be here. No excuses. Not a fucking thing would stop me.
Lark’s voice turns defensive. “He did, but I…whatever. I don’t need to explain anything to you. My point is, I’ll call my brother, it’ll be fine. You can go home.”
I should get back in the truck, but honestly, I’m getting a little joy knowing that my helping her will just piss her asshole brothers off more. I’m already soaked to the bone—might as well stay now.
“Where’s your spare?”
Her jaw grows tight. “I don’t have one.”
I laugh, because I can’t stop it. Well, I was hoping to just change her tire and go home, kiss my daughter, and sleep for at least a few hours. Seems there’s another plan at play.
“All right then, get in my truck.”
Those jade eyes flash with annoyance. “I’d rather not.”
“I’d rather have been home right now, tucking Sadie into bed and climbing in my own since I’m dead on my feet after driving for six hours, but I’m not leaving you on the side of the road in the pouring rain, darling. So you can get in my truck, or we’ll sit here together and wait for one of your brothers to come get you.”
She lets out a groan as her head falls back, rain hitting her beautiful face. “Ugh! I swear!” Lark looks back to me. “Fine.”
“Fine, what?”
“Fine, you can drive me home. Last thing I need is to hear Deacon’s mouth about Jeremy, and at least this might show my family you do have a heart.”
I have a heart. It just doesn’t bleed for any Gatlins.
“Glad you’re finally seeing sense.”
She moves to my truck and climbs into the cab. I walk over to the horse trailer and start to unhitch it.
Lark’s voice breaks through the storm. “What are you doing?”
I look up, water pouring off the brim of my hat. “Knitting a sweater,” I yell back.
“Cute. I’m a size small.”
I roll my eyes and go back to pulling the hitch.
“Tristan? Seriously, what are you doing?”
This woman is trying my patience. “I’m removing the horse trailer so I can hook up the winch to actually pull you off the road, so your truck doesn’t get slammed into and…someone doesn’t die.”
“Good call,” she replies and then closes the door.
Good call. Unreal.
“Glad you approve.”
I get the trailer off and head back to the truck. I might as well have not even worn rain gear, because I’m sopping wet.
I pull forward and adjust my vehicle to face the front of her truck. My winch is mounted to the front end, and I need to pull hers forward.
Without a word, I get out, and she does the same. “What are you doing?” I echo her question from before.
“Helping.”
“Just get dry—I’ve got this.” I do my absolute best not to look at her soaking-wet body. The way that tight shirt clings to every curve and valley.
I do my best, but I fail.
Lark grumbles about men and stupidity before going to the winch. “Go ahead and let out the lead. I’ll hook it up to my bumper.”
I could argue, but I’m pretty sure it would be the equivalent of me trying to catch the rain and put it back in the sky, so I go in, grabbing the remote to the winch, and we work together. Lark does a great job securing the clip, so we won’t rip off her truck’s grille when I pull it. Then she gets in her truck, hopefully putting it in neutral, and flashes her lights.
Taking that as a sign she’s ready, I pull so the winch is tight and start to move her as slowly as I can. Inch by inch, we get the truck to come forward enough so that it’s now safely off the road. Lark hops out of her truck, disconnects the clip as I pull the winch back in, and climbs into my cab.
“Thank you,” she says softly.
“You’re welcome. I’ll go hook my horse trailer back up, and then we can go.”
She nods, and I back up to try to reconnect. I could just leave it here, but I don’t want to deal with it getting stuck, which is most likely what will happen with the ridiculous rainfall we’ve had lately.
It takes me no time to dash outside to get it hitched, and I climb back in.
“You’re soaked,” I say, hating that I give away the fact I notice.
“We both are.”
I reach behind her seat, grabbing my bag and pulling out a dry shirt. “Here, throw this on.”
If she’s covered, I won’t be tempted to keep looking.
She clutches it to her chest. “I’m fine, but thank you.”
“Suit yourself,” I say under my breath. I lean forward, pulling my shirt off and tossing the wet clothing in the back.
She shifts, turning her body toward the window, and I smirk. I reach back behind me, grabbing another shirt and putting it on.
Before either of us can say another word, her phone rings, and she immediately answers it. “Hello? Yes. I’m fine.” A pause. “I’m getting a ride with a neighbor.” I snort a laugh, there’s a reason she doesn’t want to say my name. “I understand that, but what did you want me to do? Sit out here all night? I thought you would at least try to come get me.” Another pause, and I can hear his voice getting louder. Lark sighs heavily. “I get that it was raining, I was stuck in it—with a flat tire and I couldn’t get off the road because I was stuck in the mud.”
The person I’m assuming is her deadbeat boyfriend is talking. I can’t make out his words, but Lark clearly doesn’t like that response, as she damn near growls: “You know what? I’m not having this conversation right now because I’m going to say something I don’t mean. I’m going home, Tristan is going to drive me, and we can talk tomorrow. Good night.”
She hangs up, then tosses her phone into her purse and stares out the passenger window. I remember when my wife would do that. She’d get so angry that she couldn’t look at anyone, or she’d cry. I learned the best way to handle it was to let her have her time, so I don’t say a word as I pull back out onto the road, heading toward the Gatlin farm.
It’s been nine years. Nine years without Emmy Jo. Nine years of raising Sadie alone.
Some days it feels like yesterday. Others it’s been a lifetime.
I don’t even make it a quarter of a mile before she shifts in her seat. “What is wrong with men? Are you all stupid?”
“Considering you’re in my truck after I just spent forty minutes in the rain helping you out, I wouldn’t lump us all together.”
“Fine, not all, but…seriously? He didn’t even make an effort. Who does that?”
“Assholes,” I answer.
She crosses her arms over her chest. “Clearly that’s what I attract. He was just going to leave me out there. He figured when he didn’t hear from me, I called one of my brothers.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I knew what they’d say,” she admits.
I can’t wait to hear this one.
“Which is?”
Lark plays with the ring on her thumb. “That I should get rid of him. No one in my family likes Jeremy.”
I know that feeling. My sisters date some real winners—and by winners I mean fucking losers. Guys who would undoubtedly leave them out in the rain to possibly get hit on the side of the road. I know exactly what I’d say to them as well.
“But you keep him around,” I remind her. “Even though your brothers probably see something you don’t.”
She snorts. “Oh, now you’re siding with my brothers?”
“Not even a little. I think you should marry him. Be with a guy who treats you like garbage,” I lie. I may hate the Gatlins, but Lark isn’t lumped in with them most of the time.
She’s not out there trying to make my life hell. If there’s one person who didn’t get the asshole gene, it’s her. Lark has always been the kind one, trying to make peace between two families who have sworn to take the other down. She was close with my wife, and I had to listen to her go on and on about how wrong I was about Lark.
“I have a hard time believing you’d give Harper, Veronica, or Fallon that advice,” she says with a huff.
“My sisters don’t ask me for advice.”
“I wonder why. You’re a veritable wealth of empathy and understanding.”
I grin. “I’m glad you see what I see.”
She lets out a soft giggle that causes my heart to sputter. “You know, you’re not half bad for a Stone.”
I’m not sure how to take that, but the way she says it, all soft and warm, makes me think she actually means it.
“And you’re not half bad for a Gatlin.”
I turn onto her road, and she shifts. “Well, who knew that the two of us could stand each other for even a few minutes? You can let me out here.”
I glance over at her as if she’s lost her fucking mind. “What?”
“Let me out here. I’ll walk to the front.”
“Lark, your driveway is half a mile—at least. It’s fucking pouring.” As if Mother Nature needs to put an exclamation point at the end, the thunder booms and lightning fills the sky.
“Yes, and you and I both know exactly what will happen if you pull onto my property. My brothers are probably home, and really, with all the trouble you’ve caused my family, the last thing we need is bloodshed.”
Her family is something else. They can’t even put aside their hate and pride for Lark’s sake. “It’s raining, dark, and you’re worried about your brothers or parents being mad someone didn’t leave you stranded?”
“No, I’m worried they would’ve preferred me stranded than to get help from you.”
I blink. “You’re serious?”
She nods. “It’s just better this way. I really want to keep the fighting to a minimum.”
That makes absolutely no sense. “You think they’re going to be happier that I dropped you off, in the storm, half a mile down the drive? No.”
I put the car back in drive, and she reaches across, her soft hand resting on my forearm. “Please, Tristan, it’s…trust me, it’s better. They’re not going to be mad. I promise, I’ll make sure they know it wasn’t your idea. Ryan has been in a mood lately—something happened to the fence again, which I’m sure you’re aware of.”
I tilt my head to look at her. “What does that mean?”
“We know it was you.”
I try not to feel the change in my heart rate when her hand drops away, and I tell myself it’s because she just accused me of doing something to her family’s fence.
“Me?” I ask, my voice pitching a little too high. I clear my throat and bring it back to its normal baritone. “I have no idea what the hell you’re accusing me of this time.”
“I’m not accusing you. It’s just that they spent all day trying to repair the fence, and the horses were in the wrong pasture because of it. I know you think it’s funny, but it’s causing us a lot of stress.”
I push out the air in my lungs. “For the hundredth time, neither I nor any member of my family is doing anything to your family’s fucking ranch. You know, there are other people who live in this town who don’t like you.”
Her jaw drops. “Who?”
“Oh, pick a name.”
“The Matthewses.”
Okay, they like the Gatlins. That didn’t work in my favor. “Sorry, pick another.”
Lark chews on her lower lip for a second. “Okay, the Yateses.”
This game is not working well. “You have two families in the town that do like you. All right, here’s a name. The Powells.”
She gasps. “Mrs. Powell loves me. She says I’m an absolute delight.”
“She doesn’t say that about your dad or your brothers.”
“Well, she’s old and crotchety,” Lark says, crossing her arms over her chest. “Anyway, you named one, and I named two. I win.”
Dear God. “What do you win?”
“The knowledge that other people in this town dislike us enough to cut fence lines that don’t even touch their property.”
Yes, when we settled here, the generational gods were not smiling upon us when they put us next to the Gatlins.
“I bet your brothers are doing it,” I say with disdain. “They’re probably going out there, cutting the lines just to have some reason to come after my family. Also, how the hell could I have cut your fence when I was in Wyoming for the last day and a half?”
Lark bristles, shifting in her seat as she digests that one. I can’t wait to hear this rebuttal. “We don’t know when it was done, just that we found it yesterday.”
“Right.”
Her head falls back, and she groans. “I don’t want to argue. Truly. I just…it’s tense at the house, so it’s better for all of us if you drop me off here. I promise I’ll sing you as the hero you are.”
I want to argue. I want to make sure she gets home safe and doesn’t break an ankle or have some other horrible thing happen as she tries to make it back to her house, but I’m exhausted and we’re getting nowhere.
“All right. I’ll let you out here. Under one condition,” I say quickly.
“What condition?”
“That you’ll at least text me when you get in, so I know you made it.”
Lark takes a moment before sighing heavily. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
Her hand rests on the handle, and then she stops, turning back to me. “Thank you, Tristan. I really appreciate you stopping and helping. I just wanted you to know that it means a lot to me.”
The way each word feels like a shock to my heart, jolting it to come back to life, has me reeling.
I clear my throat. “You’re welcome.”
She smiles, and I resist the pull to say something else, but she does it anyway. “I’ll let you know when I get to the house.”
I nod, and she opens the door, hopping out into the rain. For some stupid reason, I speak: “Hey, Lark?”
“Yeah?”
“You should be with a man who would swim through a flood to get to you.”
Her lips part, and she blinks a few times. “Right.” She pauses and then forces a smile. “Thanks again.” She closes the door, and I see her jog down the drive, disappearing into the pouring darkness as I sit here, waiting for my chest to not feel like someone is sitting on it.
It’s been nine years. Nine years since my wife died. Nine years since I’ve felt alive, and it took one hour around Lark to suddenly feel something again.
It’s not right.
It can’t be her.
It won’t ever be Lark Gatlin.
Now that you have read chapter 1 the waiting game begins! I will see you at Heartstone ranch on June 16th.
Preorder now!
