{"product_id":"dust-storm-isbn-9780593955949","title":"Dust Storm","description":"\u003cb\u003eA single dad rancher and a rich city girl bump heads—and more—in this first cowboy romance in the Griffith Brothers series.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor Christian Griffith, his number one rule is: You ride in my truck, you let me open the door. Another problem in his busy life was the last thing he needed. Unfortunately, argumentative Cassandra Parker showing up on his family’s ranch and sticking her nose in their business isn’t even his biggest problem—neither is the fact that with nowhere else to live, she’s in his house. The biggest problem? The engagement ring on her finger.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCassandra has a life motto: If you’re going to kill someone, make it look like an accident, cry at the funeral, admit to nothing, and deny everything. Exiled from New York and stranded on a cattle ranch, she didn’t exactly choose to be Christian’s problem. Living with the single dad and his daughters was a downgrade from her high-rise office and city comforts, but she agreed for one simple reason: desperation to save her job and salvage what’s left of her career. And this hot cowboy won’t lasso her into staying a second longer than necessary.\u003cb\u003eMaggie Gates\u003c\/b\u003e writes raw, relatable romance novels packed full of heat and humor. Maggie calls North Carolina home. In her spare time, she enjoys daydreaming about her characters, jamming to country music, and eating all the barbecue and tacos she can find! Her e-reader is always within reach due to a love of small-town romances that borders on obsession.Chapter 1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eChristian\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCome on, squirrels-get a move on!\" I hollered up the stairs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Dad!\" one squirrel said with a giggle. \"We're girls, not squirrels!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe handheld radio sitting by the coffee pot crackled as my youngest brother, CJ, gave a report on the herd movement.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe nine thousand head of cattle that sprawled across the Griffith Brothers Ranch kept us on our toes, but what kept me busiest were the two tornadoes who were supposed to be getting ready for school.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen I didn't hear them moving upstairs, I set the spatula down and craned around the corner. \"Bree! Gracie! Finish getting dressed, brush your hair, and brush your teeth!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I want braids!\" Bree called as she thundered down the stairs with the stomp force of a linebacker.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Me too!\" Gracie echoed from their bathroom.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"No! I called braids. Do something else,\" Bree snapped.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Hey! No fighting this early in the morning,\" I bellowed loud enough for them to hear me around the corner.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"But I called braids first!\" Bree huffed as she stormed into the kitchen and grabbed a pancake off the fresh pile I had made.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI rinsed my hands off and did a quick towel dry. \"You can both have braids.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"But she's copying me.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt thirteen, all Bree wanted was for eleven-year-old Gracie to stop following her around like a wide-eyed puppy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt made me chuckle at the years Gretchen and I thought having two toddlers was bad. Now, I had two middle schoolers all on my own.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Then I'll give you different braids,\" I said as I turned back to the stove and finished cooking the batch of pancakes. \"Get the box.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBree heaved the giant tackle box I used to organize all their hair accessories on top of the kitchen table and plopped down in a chair. I slid a plate of bacon and eggs in front of her to go with the pilfered pancake she'd stolen from the counter. She chowed down while I pawed through the little compartments full of elastics, hair clips, combs, brushes, and a million other things the girls insisted on.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"What kind of braids today?\" I asked in a yawn as I ran a brush through her dirty-blonde hair, catching the few tangles she had missed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Fishtails,\" she said around a mouthful of scrambled eggs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Tight or loose?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Loose. The puffy kind. With clips.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLife wasn't easy. There was running the ranch. There was fatherhood. There was finding time for myself, which usually fell by the wayside.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDoing it on my own sucked, but I never wanted my girls to feel like they were a burden. I wasn't great at everything. The way I'd stammered through the period talk with Bree a few months ago was proof of that.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut I tried.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDammit, I tried hard.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBree sat stock-still as I sectioned her hair and started weaving flat strands, one on top of the other.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBraids were easy. It was that fucking curling iron that was the death of me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe burns on my fingers were proof of that.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBy the time she finished her plate, I was tugging the neat fishtail braids so they were loose and puffy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eApparently, tight braids weren't cool anymore.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"My turn!\" Gracie said as she elbowed her way to the tackle box. \"I want-\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Not fishtail braids,\" Bree clipped.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI stifled an eye roll.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll I wanted was one morning where they weren't at each other's throats about who got what. Was that too much to ask?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI should have already been at work.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I want a halo braid.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat seemed to appease Bree.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGracie made a taco out of her pancake, filling it with eggs and a crumble of bacon before meeting me on the couch. She lay on her side and rested her head on my leg while I braided her hair into a crown.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs I was pinning the tail under the braid with a bobby pin, Bree called out, \"Grandma's here!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGracie shot off the couch like a rocket.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Lunches are in the fridge,\" I said as I cleared the couch of hair paraphernalia.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThey shouldered their backpacks and stomped their shoes on. The fridge door slammed as they grabbed their respective lunchboxes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNo matter how much they begged to buy lunch at school, a homemade lunch meant I cared. It meant I put in the time and effort. Right?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMaybe I should just let them get lunch at school.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI ran a hand down the side of my beard as I watched them load up like pack mules.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy mom sat in her idling minivan as the girls bolted into the back and buckled up.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Thanks,\" I said to Mom as I craned my head through the passenger window.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI tried to be all things for all people. Especially my people. And my daughters were my people.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAfter Gretchen passed, I grieved. I took a minimal amount of time to be selfish. And then I picked myself up and had to be dad and mom for my girls.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUnfortunately, there weren't enough hours in the day. So, I finally broke down and accepted help for things like school drop-off and pickup.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Any time,\" she said over a sip of coffee from her thermos. \"Don't forget about that consultant coming in today.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI scoffed over the symphony of buckling seatbelts. \"Pretty sure I said that was a you problem. I'm not the one who hired her.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMom snickered. \"I'm not either. Becks is the one who recommended her, and you know better than to act ugly to your sister-in-law.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI chuckled, thinking about the sharp-tongued war correspondent my older brother fell in love with while he was deployed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYeah, I knew better than to mess with Becks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Your dad thinks it's a good idea. I think it's a good idea. Be on your best behavior and I'll leave you be until dinner.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI shuffled down to the open side door, leaning in to drop kisses on Bree and Gracie's foreheads. \"Have a good day. Love you.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Love you, Daddy,\" they said in chorus.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI rolled the door closed and watched as the van lumbered down the dirt path toward the service road that would take them into town.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI glanced at my watch. Not even seven fifteen yet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI jogged back up the porch steps and headed inside, snagging a pancake for myself on the way. I trapped it between my teeth as I stole Gracie's purple hairbrush and used it to untangle my hair. I worked the knots out of the ends that hung past my shoulders before tying it into a bun.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Boss, you there?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI picked up the radio. \"Go ahead.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCJ's voice crackled on the line. \"Fence is down on the west border.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You need me out there?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Nah,\" he said. \"Just letting you know.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I'll be in the office most of the day taking care of vax records. Holler if you need something.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"10-4.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSadie came wandering in, her brindle tail thumping with excitement as she looked up at me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Sorry, girl. No cows for you today. Gotta do paperwork.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe huffed, loping to the door as I slid on my boots and clipped the radio to my belt.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI emptied the coffee pot into a travel mug and jogged down the steps, not bothering to lock up.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere was a benefit to living on the ranch that had been in my family for generations. I could leave the door unlocked for the girls when they got home from school. I could leave my keys in my truck. And, while there was a limit to how far I'd let them go on their own, Bree and Gracie had plenty of space to run free.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy brother, Nate, had found peace in a war zone. But me?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI stepped out and surveyed the land as the February sun peeked over the horizon.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis was my kingdom.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy kingdom could go to hell.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI pinched the bridge of my nose to ward off a migraine and wondered which Griffith was to blame for saddling me with a legacy of cattle ranching.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFuckin' animals trying to kill themselves.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe AC window unit sputtered as a steady drip thwopped into the bucket beneath it. At least it kept the condensation from pooling on the floor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI'd gone through the vaccine records with a fine-tooth comb to make sure nothing was out of place. Bills had been paid. A sticky note with a hydraulic oil pressure switch I needed to get was in the trash after the order had been placed. I was waiting on a call from the livestock vet we kept on retainer, but waiting for that call was like watching paint dry. She was a busy woman.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHonestly, I missed doing what CJ did every day. I missed the camaraderie of working the land with the rest of the crew. I missed saddling up before daybreak and not returning to the stables until after sunset.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFrom the looks of things, Sadie, the ranch's retired cattle dog, missed it too.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut taking over for my dad on the management side gave him a chance to retire and gave me a more stable schedule so I could prioritize the girls. CJ had stepped up to fill my old role and thrived in it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was great for everyone else.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI glanced at the clock. The girls were at dance class, and if the vet hadn't called by now . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI pushed out of the rolling desk chair that was decades past its prime and whistled for Sadie as I grabbed my hat and dropped it on my head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"C'mon, girl.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe trotted along obediently toward the barn.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLibby, the thoroughbred American quarter horse I had been riding since I was in my twenties, let out a blustering huff as I tacked her up.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSadie looked antsy, prancing around the barn as I mounted Libby and gripped the reins, guiding her out of the barn.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLibby let loose when we rounded the corner and headed away from the barn and outbuildings. She grunted, hooves thundering into the dirt.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen the conglomerate of structures turned to a speck in the distance, the stress began to loosen and melt away. Clean air and sunshine surrounded me. Sadie bolted like a bullet from a gun.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMaybe we were all a little stir-crazy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI used the spur-of-the-moment ride to survey the near side of the property to make sure nothing was out of place.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAfter a few miles, Sadie looked like she was tuckered out. I tugged on the reins and slowed Libby to a canter as we rounded the corner to Nate's house.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNo one was home.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHuh. That was weird. Nate and Becks had a pipe burst yesterday and were in the process of fixing the sopping mess. Becks was on maternity leave from her job as an international news correspondent. She should have been there.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eApart from my momma, I hadn't seen any vehicles leaving the property today through the cameras.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShit.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLibby must've sensed my urgency as I nudged her into a gallop again. The dog peeled off and trotted down the path to my place, but I headed for the front gate.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBecks sat on the porch of my parents' house, her hands over her baby bump as she watched dust plume from the tires of a sedan as it peeled down the drive.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer red hair was tied up in a bun on top of her head, and she held a glass of tea. As far as sisters-in-law went, I'd take her. She was a far cry from Nate's first wife, Vanessa.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs much as I hated seeing him torn up about it in the moment, none of us were surprised when they divorced. What surprised the hell out of us was seeing him on TV, rescuing a reporter out of rubble while he was deployed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut it worked out well for them. Now, Bree and Gracie were over the moon to be getting a cousin.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI slowed Libby a safe distance from the house, giving myself a chance to watch as the sedan stopped. The doors opened, and a man hopped out from the driver's side.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe guy wrinkled his nose, sneering at the scenery.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGreat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBecks had hooked us up with some uptight city slicker. This was gonna go over like a fart in church.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLibby let out a displeased grunt.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen the other door opened.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBlonde hair danced on the wind like rays of gold. The woman straightened and turned, studying her surroundings through the privacy of an oversized pair of sunglasses.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLibby eased forward, letting me steal a look at her from behind.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe had a pair of fuck-me legs and an ass to match.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer fingers flexed as she grabbed the door and slammed it shut. The sun caught something shiny on her hand.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA goddamn engagement ring.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eChapter 2\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCassandra\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eExiled. A smoke trail lingered in my wake as I fled Manhattan like an outlaw on the run. Seventeen hundred miles sat between me and the life I had worked tirelessly to construct.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe need time for things to cool down.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe situation is too volatile.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe'll bring you back once a new scandal has everyone's attention.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI hated Texas already. The air was so fresh it was nauseating. The breeze was giving me a headache.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTripp cut his eyes at me as he guided the rental car down the poorly paved service road. \"I don't think a media blackout includes checking the headlines.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I need to see how they're spinning it.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith a snap of his wrist, Tripp confiscated my phone. \"Lillian isn't your problem anymore.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"She's still a problem.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Well, she's my problem now,\" he stated with an odd mix of dismissiveness and finality.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat was the problem with being engaged to a colleague. Well . . . Technically, Tripp was my boss.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut that was just semantics.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI looked down at the diamond glinting on my finger, willing it to become a shooting star.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI would have wished for a time machine to take me back to the beginning of the week when I had a job. When I was respected in my field. When I wasn't being banished to the Lone Star state by my boss turned fiancé.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI settled back in my seat, closed my eyes, and counted to three. \"I'm not sure why you think it's a good idea to hide me away on some ranch. And stop trying to convince me it's a business development project. We both know I'm being put in time-out.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTripp reached for my hand, but I snatched it away. I wasn't feeling particularly affectionate at the moment.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSwallow a demotion and take the project Rebecca Davis-now Rebecca Griffith-offered, or start looking for other employment.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTripp called it crisis management. I called it an ultimatum.","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48233117941989,"sku":"NP9780593955949","price":19.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593955949.jpg?v=1767725777","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/dust-storm-isbn-9780593955949","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}