I Don't Want to be Married Read online

  Table of Contents

  I DON’T WANT TO BE MARRIED

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Epilogue

  I DON’T WANT TO BE MARRIED

  SONJA GUNTER

  SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

  New York

  I DON’T WANT TO BE MARRIED

  Copyright©2016

  SONJA GUNTER

  Cover Design by Victoria Vane

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America by

  Soul Mate Publishing

  P.O. Box 24

  Macedon, New York, 14502

  ISBN: 978-1-68291-246-1

  www.SoulMatePublishing.com

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  I’m dedicating this book to a woman I’ve never met: Suzzane Rivenbark.

  Thank you for everything you do for the horses.

  Suzzane’s love of horses and passion to help all animals in need, is thankless. She’s been an advocate for animals for a very long time with very little acknowledgement. Not many people know what a Good Samaritan she is and has been. She spends her own money, giving mainly horses what others can’t. She recently built a new barn on her property that is a palace, while her home is a humble abode.

  I hope I DON’T WANT TO BE MARRIED brings awareness to the much needed help to save horses from abuse, neglect, starvation, and unnecessary euthanizing.

  Please don’t forget to support not only your local humane society, but search out the smaller sanctuaries that desperately need your help, too.

  Acknowledgements

  First, I’d like to say sorry to my husband, Andy, who’s been given so much grief about the title.

  Second, a huge thank you to trainer Joesey Butler. Her help made the barrel races come to life.

  Next, to Cheria Ruedy, who told me about Suzzane with tears in her eyes.

  And I can’t forget all my bowling buddies in Illinois, who read an earlier version of I DON’T WANT TO BE MARRIED, and gave great advice on what Rosalind should do (Rene, tell Bill thanks for the useful words).

  Last but not least: Thank you to Rosanne, for her endless hours of sitting on the phone going over edits and rewrites, even though we’d be cut off every two hours by the stupid phone service.

  Prologue

  Dear Rosalind,

  If you’re reading this letter, it’s because I’ve passed away. I’ve assigned Sam as your new trustee. I’m sorry. It was the only way. I have to make sure you’d end up happy and not alone later in life.

  Remember I love you and this is done out of love. You’re a very wealthy young lady. Every young and old cowboy is gonna want to marry you. So I’ve laid down some stipulations you will need to follow in order to use your trust fund.

  On your thirtieth birthday, you’ll be in full charge of all the money. Up till such time, an annual allowance will be deposited into your bank account. If you marry before turning thirty, the trust fund will also be turned over to you, so long as your husband is not involved in the rodeo in any form. If your new husband has anything to do with the rodeo, the trust fund will be disbursed in annual amounts of ten thousand dollars until you reach your thirtieth birthday.

  You’re probably very upset. That’s to be expected, but don’t do anything you’ll regret later. You’re headstrong like your father was at your age. I want you to live, to have children, and to be able to grow old with them. I don’t want your children having to grow up with only one parent or none at all.

  Love, Grandpa Rodney

  Chapter 1

  Rosalind Dunne led Dawn, her four-year-old golden quarter mare, to the heavy metal gates. The hum and excitement from the crowd, inside the Las Vegas Sagebrush Ranch Arena for the Annual Barrel Race, brought on a smile and a feeling of being home.

  “Watch out for turn three,” Sam said.

  “I’ve heard. Other riders have complained to the officials about some rowdy dudes in the grandstands.”

  “Be careful and remember to count.”

  “Yes, I will,” Rosalind replied and gave him a smile. Even though he was her guardian, he took his responsibilities too seriously and worried too much.

  “I’m headed to have a talk with the officials.”

  Sam patted Dawn’s hindquarter and Rosalind observed him take deep, labored breaths before he walked away.

  Was he sick? He hadn’t said anything.

  She forced herself to concentrate on her run, but her mood veered to disgust as she fixed her gaze on the crowd. Rosalind’s green eyes narrowed when she spotted the group of boisterous spectators obnoxiously heckling each barrel rider at turn three.

  All men. It figures.

  One, two, four, eight, nine in the bunch. They were whistling, hollering and waving with what she guessed were newly acquired bandanas and cowboy hats.

  Rosalind angrily kicked at the dirt as she waited for her number to be called.

  Definitely not real cowboys. Wannabes. Why today? I can’t afford to lose.

  Horses and people were counting on her. If she won today’s fifteen-thousand-dollar purse, she’d be able to give it to the real-estate agent, Mr. Kennedy.

  She’d missed his call this morning due to poor cell service. He’d left a message, informing her Mr. Hill
sboro wasn’t willing to wait any longer for her to make good on her guarantee to buy the land. The down payment had to be paid with the signed purchase agreement and a closing date set before the end of the year, or the land would be put on the market.

  Six months ago she was ecstatic when Dwight Hillsboro, the owner of the adjacent ranch, called and gave her the first chance to purchase his land. They hadn’t discussed a time frame, but apparently now he wanted to sell fast.

  “Good luck, Rosalind.”

  She blinked and saw David Billy, the number one bronco-rider, standing next to her.

  “Thanks. You ridin’ last today?”

  “No, I drew fifth. Not worried though. Careful around your last turn.”

  “I will. Sam went to talk to the officials.”

  “Okay, make the dirt fly.” David winked and strutted away.

  He’s so damn handsome. Too bad he’s already taken. His wife, Suzy, was definitely one lucky cowgirl.

  Rosalind could even see herself relinquishing the land to be married to the likes of him.

  Time wasn’t on her side nor was it her friend; instead, a must-win situation had cropped up. The land couldn’t slip through her fingers, not when she was so close. Everything would’ve been completed last month if Sam hadn’t reminded her about her grandpa’s will and his old school marriage stipulation.

  The parcel of land she wanted . . . no, needed, wasn’t going to sit idle for her to turn thirty. At twenty-five, she couldn’t wait five years to be given permission to use her money whenever she wanted or needed it.

  Once everything fell into place, she’d be able to get the ball rolling for a sanctuary on behalf of aging and abused horses. There were several horses on her wait list. It all came down to the land. It was everything.

  Damn it. The horses need me. I want that land.

  Her horse whinnied.

  “Easy, girl. Sorry, I’m just mad,” Rosalind said soothingly and let up on the bridle.

  She had to get her hands on her trust fund by the end of the year. How could Grandpa have been so cruel?

  Sam came up to her. “They ain’t gonna do anything. You’ll have to ride with them in the stands,” he said.

  He appeared winded and then coughed.

  “You okay?”

  “Don’t you go worrying about me. Could be the onset of a cold.”

  “Mr. Kennedy called to—”

  “Stop. I don’t want to hear it. Mr. Kennedy can wait.”

  Sam was right. It was necessary for her to focus on this run. She put the land, the realtor, and her irritation on the rear burner.

  Mounting up and squeezing Lizzie, as she liked to call the saddle horn, she settled into the leather. Suddenly, the drone of the crowd grew louder. If she took a wild guess, it would be that another rider must’ve taken turn three.

  Those men have to be drunker than a peach orchard sow or crazier than a parrot eatin’ stick candy.

  Without missing a stride, Rosalind prodded Dawn closer to the posts to have a clearer view. The next rider raced around the barrels. She recognized the woman’s black hair. Alisa Highland. Instead of following her rival and friend, as she should’ve, her gaze honed in on the men.

  One of them wore a sign, ‘About to Be Hitched.’

  At least it was his choice. He wasn’t being forced into marriage. Boy, to be that lucky.

  Alisa approached the third barrel, and all at once the party of men stood, waving and howling. Her horse spooked and slowed down.

  Not good.

  Alisa reacted and maneuvered her horse quickly. It was too late, the damage was done. She’d lost precious time.

  Where were the officials? Stupid wannabes.

  Rosalind’s gloved fingers tightened on the reins. Dawn nickered and jerked her head in protest. Disgust replaced her etched smile. On the edge of refusing to ride unless the officials did something, she sensed being watched. She scanned the crowd. Her search ended when she reached the group. One of the men stood. His bold, unbroken stare gave her butterflies in the pit of her belly.

  Omigod. He’s so hot he can melt ice cubes on a cold day in Minnesota.

  He didn’t compare to the tough, good-looking bull, bareback, and bronco riders she was around all the time. This man was different.

  Blond hair. I need to breathe, damn it.

  His sun-kissed locks, however, stuck out like a casino in a church district. Her smile turned to a chuckle when she noticed the way his midnight black Stetson was angled on his head.

  Didn’t the man know wearing his hat that way meant he was single and looking for company?

  Rosalind’s lips curled upward as she returned his stare and tipped her hat to him. Nevertheless, she looked away first, not liking the unsettling feeling it gave her.

  “You ready, Rosalind?” Sam patted her leg.

  “Yeah, as ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Focus on the run. And only the run.”

  Sam yanked and cinched her straps. She nodded.

  Rosalind went into her routine checklist mode. She brushed at her fringed western shirt to make sure it was tucked into her jeans. Absentmindedly she touched each of the white-coated snaps, ensuring all were fastened properly. She tugged her hat string tight for good measure and turned her head to feel the weight of her braid on her back.

  She couldn’t spare any deductions for improper dress. The National Barrel Horse Association judges were strict when it came to points concerning the dress codes, and could fine members up to twenty-five dollars per violation.

  “Rosalind Dunne, rider number fifteen, to the gate.”

  With her knees she nudged Dawn forward to the starting line and turned her attention to the signal. The flag was her center point, second to the words. She waited and waited.

  “Ready,” the voice paused. “Go!”

  The flag dropped.

  Dawn didn’t need any urging. She took off like a bat out of hell. Fifteen, sixteen, and turn, Rosalind mindlessly counted off to herself to assure she was in time with each long stride Dawn took. They rounded barrel one and then barrel two with no problems. As they neared the third barrel, the dreaded turn, she heard the shouts, whistles, and the catcalls. She used all her experience to avoid a catastrophe during the turn.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Rosalind didn’t miss the blond-haired man stand and wave. For a split second, her attention was taken away from Dawn as the man lurched, ready to fall face first into the arena. She braced herself for the disaster, except at the last second, another spectator saved the falling man.

  Even with the distraction, she completed the hairpin turn with the stirrups nearly touching the ground. Rosalind steadied herself for the last leg of the run by loosening up on the reins and giving Dawn her head. They headed home with incredible speed.

  “Fifteen-point-nine seconds for Rosalind Dunne.” The announcer shouted into the intercom.

  Hot damn. Record time. I did it.

  She’d secured a coveted spot at the BFA World Championship Barrel Futurity, in December. A cry of happiness broke free, and her heart was pounding so fast she could hardly breathe.

  She wouldn’t have to enter any local events with limited purses.

  Somehow, Rosalind managed to keep her composure, smile, and raise her arms in victory. She led Dawn to the center of the arena and waved to the crowd.

  During Dawn’s cooldown, a crowd of well-wishers gathered.

  “I’m so happy for you.”

  “She’s a mighty fast filly.”

  “Good run, missy.”

  “Maybe next time you’ll give me a chance,” Alisa said.

  “Not this year,” Rosalind replied. “I’m going all the way.”

  Between the handshakes and conversation, she
curiously glanced toward the stands. Her eyebrows rose in astonishment. The same man who’d almost fallen into the arena stood again, staring. He seemed to weave, but his strong gaze never faltered.

  Who was this stranger? She didn’t recognize him or anyone in his group. Was he and his gang here for entertainment? Or was he a city boy out on the town for the weekend?

  To her dismay, more rodeo participants jostled closer, blocking her view of him as they shrieked out praises and trapped her. By the time she broke free, it was time for her to receive her trophy and take a victory lap. As she circled the arena, she noticed the blond, blue-eyed man and his friends were gone.

  Damn, back to square one. He might’ve been her ticket to financial freedom. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right?

  Her plan to marry while in Las Vegas seemed less likely now, with no candidate.

  Rosalind frowned. A roll of nausea hit her at the thought of all of her inheritance sitting in the bank, with her unable to get at it.

  All she had to do was get married. She’d then have full control of her money. And she still had the evening to find a greenhorn to marry her for money and agree to divorce her for a bonus. Her plan ought to work; it was simple enough. The marriage would be a business agreement, no night of bliss, and no husband to go home to.

  Traditional marriages only caused heartaches.

  Chapter 2

  “Your Granddaddy Rodney would’ve been so proud of you, Rosalind,” Sam said as he stashed the last bag into the truck.

  “Thanks, I miss him.”

  “Don’t be getting all sad. He’s here with you. You did good today . . .” Sam was interrupted by a coughing attack and pulled out a hankie, wiping his mouth. “Sorry, must’ve swallowed wrong. We should be on the road by six a.m. We’ll swing back here at five. Max and Walt should have Dawn and the trailer ready. I want to make Rawlins by nightfall.”