Cowboy Up. Vicki Thompson Lewis

       DO YOU NEED A COWBOY FIX?

      New York Times bestselling author Vicki Lewis Thompson is back with more …

       Sons of Chance

      Chance isn’t just the last name of these rugged

      Wyoming cowboys—it’s their motto, too!

       Saddle up with:

      SHOULD’VE BEEN A COWBOY

      August 2012

      COWBOY UP

      September 2012

      COWBOYS LIKE US

      October 2012

       Take a chance…on a Chance!

      Dear Reader,

      When I was in college, my dad happened to be the Dean of Students, which created a massive problem for any guy who wanted to date me. Most boyfriends are a little nervous dealing with a girl’s father, but if that father has the power to destroy an entire college career, the stakes go way up.

      I gave top cowhand Clay Whitaker a similar problem. He has a major attraction to the only daughter of Emmett Sterling, foreman of the Last Chance Ranch in the Jackson Hole area of Wyoming. As a former foster kid, Clay cherishes the ranch as his last chance for a real home. The family treats him as one of their own, and Emmett is the father he’s never had. Getting cozy with Emmett’s daughter Emily has the potential to ruin everything.

      Yet Clay’s a hot-blooded cowboy with a taste for risk. Something tells me he will go for it, despite the high stakes. I fell in love with this guy, as I do all my heroes, but he has a special place in my heart because he started with so little and has so much to lose. Well, and he also looks amazing in a pair of jeans …

      Welcome back to the SONS OF CHANCE series! It should be illegal to have this much fun!

      Forever yours in cowboy country,

       Vicki Lewis Thompson

      About the Author

      New York Times bestseller VICKI LEWIS THOMPSON’s love affair with cowboys started with The Lone Ranger, continued through Maverick, and took a turn south of the border with Zorro. She views cowboys as the Western version of knights in shining armor—rugged men who value honor, honesty and hard work. Fortunately for her, she lives in the Arizona desert, where broad-shouldered, lean-hipped cowboys abound. Blessed with such an abundance of inspiration, she only hopes that she can do them justice. Visit her website at www.vickilewisthompson.com.

      Cowboy Up

      Vicki Lewis Thompson

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      To Rhonda Nelson, friend, top-notch painter of walls, and valued source of story ideas.

      Thanks for my freshly painted walls and your excellent suggestion for Clay’s job description.

      Prologue

       Jackson Hole, Wyoming July 21, 1961

      CARRYING HIS COFFEE MUG, Archie Chance joined his wife, Nelsie, for their evening ritual of rocking on the front porch, gazing at the mountains and discussing…whatever came up.

      Archie settled in his chair and took a sip of his coffee before broaching the subject on his mind. “What do you think about frozen semen?”

      Although some women might have been taken aback by such a question, Nelsie didn’t bat an eye. “Are you fixing to freeze yours?”

      That made him laugh. How he loved this woman. “Nope. Don’t think there would be much call for my semen considering that I’ve only been able to produce one son in all these years.”

      “That’s because you go for quality and not quantity.”

      Archie gave her a smile. Their son, Jonathan, now fifteen, had turned out pretty damned well, if Archie did say so. The boy lived and breathed ranching just as Archie had hoped he would. There was no question that Jonathan would take over the Last Chance when the time came.

      “So whose frozen semen are you interested in, then?” Nelsie asked.

      “Goliath’s. I’ve been reading about folks shipping frozen bull semen all over God’s creation and making money doing it. Seeing as how the Last Chance is still a cattle operation and Goliath fetches a hefty stud fee, I wondered if I should look into it.”

      Nelsie’s rocker creaked softly as she appeared to ponder that idea. “Goliath might not take to having his semen collected.”

      “I know.”

      “I would imagine he prefers to impregnate cows the old-fashioned way.”

      “Too bad. It’s the sixties. Times are changing. Goliath needs to change with them.”

      Nelsie turned to gaze at him. “And you need more money to get this horse venture off the ground.”

      “Yeah.” He cradled his mug in both hands and watched the fading light play across the flanks of the Grand Tetons. “It’s a hell of a lot more expensive than I thought it would be, Nelsie, and it may take years, but someday the Last Chance is going to be known for raising the finest paints in Wyoming.”

      1

       July, present day

      THE STALLION’S SCREAM of sexual frustration ricocheted off the walls of a shed that smelled like fresh lumber and honest sweat, both human and horse. The Last Chance Ranch baked under a sun that shone with uncharacteristic ferocity. Clay Whitaker, who’d recently been put in charge of the ranch’s stud program, wiped his face on his sleeve.

      The new shed could use an air-conditioning unit—humans would appreciate it, at least. The horses probably wouldn’t care, judging from the ardor of Bandit, the black-and-white paint that claimed a higher stud fee than any other stallion in the Last Chance Ranch.

      Despite the heat, Bandit seemed desperate to mount the mare contained in a small pen only a few feet away. He would never get the chance. The pretty little chocolate-and-white paint named Cookie Dough was a decoy.

      Instead of mating the old-fashioned way, Bandit would have to make do with a padded dummy so that Clay could collect the semen, freeze it and ship it to a customer in Texas. Shipping frozen horse semen promised to add an increased revenue stream to the ranch operation, or so Clay projected it would.

      Nick Chance, middle son of the family that operated the ranch, was on hand to help. A large-animal vet, Nick, co-owned the Last Chance along with his older brother, Jack, his younger brother, Gabe, and their mother, Sarah. Clay had known all of them for ten years.

      Theoretically, sperm collection was a simple task. Nick would keep a firm grip on Bandit’s lead rope as the stallion mounted the dummy, and Clay would move in with a collection tube. Instead, Bandit seemed determined to get to the mare, and both men’s yoked Western shirts were stained dark with sweat.

      Nick glanced around the small shed. “We need to get us some air-conditioning in here.”

      “That’s exactly what I—” The rest of Clay’s response was drowned out by another scream from Bandit, right before he did exactly as he was supposed to and mounted the dummy. Grasping the tube, a twenty-five-pound piece of equipment designed to keep the semen at an even temperature, Clay moved in for the crucial part of the operation.

      When Bandit was finished, both men stood back to let the stallion rest on the dummy for a moment.

      Nick