One Last Kiss Read online

  Also by Kat Martin

  The Silent Rose

  The Dream

  The Secret

  Hot Rain

  Deep Blue

  Desert Heat

  Midnight Sun

  Against the Wild

  Against the Sky

  Against the Tide

  Into the Fury

  Into the Whirlwind

  Into the Firestorm

  Beyond Reason

  Beyond Danger

  Beyond Control

  Pivot

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  One Last Kiss

  Kat Martin

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  Copyright

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  LYRICAL PRESS BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2021 by Kat Martin

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fund-raising, educational, or institutional use.

  Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Sales Manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018. Attn. Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

  Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  First Electronic Edition: September 2021

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4201-5419-1

  eISBN-10: 1-4201-5419-2

  Printed in the United States of America

  Contents

  Also by Kat Martin

  One Last Kiss

  Copyright

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Chapter One

  The black-robed judge rapped the gavel, and the courtroom fell silent. As the judge rose and stepped down from the dais, a rising tide of chatter swelled among the wooden pews filled with spectators, miscellaneous family members, lawyers and their clients.

  “I’m sorry, Libby, but the judge has made his ruling. Your uncle’s will stands as written. That includes the provisions that apply to you.”

  The tall doors opened with a clang, and Liberty Hale rose from her place next to her attorney, Bert Strieber.

  “As far as the ruling applies to Uncle Marty’s greedy family, I couldn’t be happier,” Libby said. “None of them deserved a nickel more than they received in the will. Uncle Marty’s contribution to the Save an Animal Foundation was his business, not theirs. That money will do a lot of good, exactly what my uncle wanted.”

  Bert waited for her to step into the aisle behind the crowd exiting the courtroom, then followed. He was an older, gray-haired man, a little stoop-shouldered, one of Uncle Marty’s best friends. For an instant, Libby’s mind strayed to the dignified, handsome older man who had raised her. The only family member willing to assume the burden of providing a home for an orphaned twelve-year-old girl, her grandfather’s brother had taken her in after her parents had been killed in a car accident.

  Tears threatened. Libby clamped down on her emotions. Martin Hale had died two months ago. Libby was still grieving, trying to accept his death, though after months of battling cancer, Uncle Marty had seen the end as a blessing.

  She took a shaky breath. “As I said, I’m glad Judge Barrymore refused to give in to my cousins’ outrageous demands. As for me, Uncle Marty left me more money than I ever imagined. It’s the provision he created in order for me to get it that I don’t understand.”

  Bert came up beside her as they moved along the aisle. “I can only tell you that whatever your uncle did, he always had your best interests at heart.”

  It was true and yet... “Or else he’s still trying to control me.”

  She loved her uncle as much as the parents she had lost fourteen years ago. Uncle Marty had always been there for her, had always given her anything and everything she wanted. Then he’d fallen ill, and something had shifted between them.

  They’d argued about her future—the fact that she really had nothing specific in mind, nothing beyond having a good time and indulging herself in wildly expensive shopping excursions.

  Uncle Marty had continually brought up her childhood, reminding her of where she had come from, the small Kansas wheat farm where she was born and raised until the accident.

  Somehow that concern had morphed into the strange codicil to the will requiring her to spend the summer in the middle of Nowhere, Colorado—on some dude ranch she had never even heard of.

  Libby sighed. Trailing behind the grasping family members streaming through the tall mahogany courtroom doors, she and Bert made their way into the anteroom. A few feet ahead of her, Martha Newman, her second cousin by marriage, stopped and turned to face her.

  “I hope you’re happy, you spoiled little bitch. A bunch of stupid animals are getting half of Martin’s fortune. He never should have taken you in when your loser parents died.”

  A wave of fury hit her so hard her whole body tightened. If Bert hadn’t grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back, she would have launched herself at the red-haired witch married to her cousin Ferris.

  “Ignore her and keep walking,” Bert said.

  Since a wrestling match in the foyer of the courthouse was probably a bad idea, Libby kept moving, making her way out through the glass front doors onto Centre Street in Lower Manhattan. The black Lincoln Town Car they had arrived in pulled away from the spot where it had been waiting and drove up to the curb.

  As the driver opened the rear door, a rush of warm July wind sent Libby’s hair flying, tossing long blond curls over her shoulders. She ducked into the car and slid across the seat, leaving plenty of room for Bert, who climbed in beside her.

  “You shouldn’t pay any attention to Martha,” Bert said. “She’s always been a jealous fool.”

  Because it was true, Libby didn’t argue. “Are you sure there’s nothing else we can do about the will?”

  Bert shook his head. “At this point, Libby, you’ve got two choices. You can spend a month on the guest ranch, as your uncle’s will insists, or you can forfeit your inheritance. I realize you have income from your career as a makeup model, but it’s sporadic at best, and let’s be honest, your tastes are extremely expensive. Your apartment costs a small fortune.” He glanced down at the red leather stiletto heels that matched her outfit. “I would venture to guess the shoes you’re wearing cost at least six hundred dollars. Am I correct?”

  “Eight hundred.” She turned her slim ankle one way and anothe
r, showing off her pretty pumps. “These are Louboutins.”

  “Yes, well, then I suggest you do as your uncle wishes and spend your summer at the ranch.” He leaned back against the seat. “You know, there is always a chance you might actually enjoy yourself.”

  Libby scoffed, rolling her long-lashed, heavily mascaraed blue eyes. As a model for some of the top cosmetics companies in the world, she felt an obligation to always look her best. “You have got to be kidding.”

  Bert chuckled but made no comment.

  Crossing her arms over her chest, Libby fell back against the seat. For the first time since Uncle Marty had died, she felt something besides agonizing grief. She was filled with anger and resentment toward the man who was still controlling her, even from the grave. Worse yet, he was determined to put her life in the hands of yet another man.

  Libby tried to form an image of the rancher whose orders she would have to follow for the next four weeks. According to Bert, the rancher’s father, Chet Bridger, had been close friends with Uncle Marty. Then Chet died, his son inherited the property, and the friendship had continued.

  The Bridger Ranch in the mountains northwest of Denver was a working cattle ranch that catered to visitors for a few months in the summer. But the requirements of the will were specific—Libby wouldn’t be one of the paying guests; she would be working as one of the employees who served the guests.

  Fresh irritation rolled through her. Sam Bridger would be in control of her life—for now. But in a little over a month from now, she would be free to live as she pleased. Libby vowed that from this day forward, no man would ever control her life again.

  Chapter Two

  Sam Bridger stood outside the Vail Valley Jet Center, the executive terminal at the Eagle County Airport, watching a sleek white Citation taxi toward the gate and brake to a halt.

  The stairs were put in place, and the door swung open. A well-dressed blonde emerged from the plane, the only passenger aboard. Sam chafed with annoyance as he watched her descend the metal stairs, the spoiled city girl he would be babysitting for the next four weeks.

  During the summer, when they opened the ranch to visitors as a means of making extra money, Julio Santiago, his foreman, or Big John Coolwater, his top ranch hand, usually picked up passengers for the hour ride from the airport back to Coffee Springs.

  Unlike today, guests usually arrived at the regular passenger terminal, not the fancy private-jet runway. Most of the people with that kind of money flew in during the winter to ski in nearby Vail.

  Unfortunately, this was Martin Hale’s niece, and Sam considered Marty a friend. In accordance with the man’s dying request, Sam had agreed to adhere to the terms Marty set out in the video he’d sent. In exchange for employing his niece, the Bridger Ranch would receive fifty thousand dollars, a sum Sam couldn’t afford to turn down.

  Not after last year’s drought, the drop in beef prices, and the grass fire that had destroyed two of his best grazing pastures.

  Sam would have agreed to Marty’s request without the money. No way would he have refused a friend’s last wish. But Martin Hale wasn’t a fool, and Sam was sure the man knew all about the ranch’s financial situation. The money was Marty’s way of leaving him a bequest.

  Sam watched the petite woman with the beautiful face and gorgeous long hair descend the last of the metal stairs and walk toward him across the tarmac. In a short skirt and matching jacket, she was stunning, with shapely legs, a tiny waist, and a full bosom, the kind of woman who could make a man hard just by looking at him.

  Unexpected arousal tightened his jeans, and his annoyance grew. Sam wondered if he had made a bargain with the devil.

  Chapter Three

  Libby looked up to see a tall man in worn cowboy boots and jeans, his blue denim shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows, revealing muscular forearms. One of the ranch hands, she was sure. Good-looking, she had to admit, with a chest that threatened the snaps on the front of his shirt.

  His hair was a shiny dark gold and long enough to curl over the back of his collar. He had a solid jaw and a cleft in his chin. Sun lines crinkled at the corners of his dark brown eyes.

  He was better than good-looking, she thought, adjusting her first impression. But—she reminded herself—he was a man. That was reason enough to block him from her thoughts.

  She waved as he approached, and he stopped right in front of her.

  “Ms. Hale?”

  “That’s right. I assume you work at the ranch. If you’re here to pick me up, my luggage is over there.” She pointed a pink, freshly manicured nail toward a stack of leather-trimmed bags on a rolling cart, everything she might need for a month in near isolation in some wilderness outpost.

  His gaze followed hers to the cart, and one dark gold eyebrow went up. “All of that’s yours?”

  She frowned. “If you don’t think I brought enough, I can call a friend, have her UPS a few more things.”

  “Oh, I think you brought enough.” He turned toward the valet working behind the concierge counter. “We could use your help over here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Take Ms. Hale’s luggage out to my truck. It’s parked right in front.”

  “Yes, sir.” The young valet couldn’t seem to move fast enough. The ranch hand did have a commanding way about him. Uncle Marty had spoken with the same kind of authority. People did whatever he asked without question. She knew it was more than just the millions he was worth, though that clearly added to the motivation.

  A memory arose of the warmth in her uncle’s eyes whenever they were together and the crooked smile she had come to love. Her eyes misted. Libby blinked away any hint of tears. It was time to move forward, and that was exactly what she intended to do.

  Four weeks from now, her life could begin in earnest, she thought as she followed the valet pushing the cart out of the terminal, across the sidewalk to a big black Dodge Ram truck. The weather was warm, but the air was dry, not humid as it had been in Manhattan, and at this altitude, not nearly as hot.

  She watched as the tall blond ranch hand started grabbing luggage off the cart and tossing it into the back of the pickup.

  “Be careful, that’s Louis Vuitton! It was a gift, customized with my initials.”

  He clamped his hands on a pair of narrow hips, and his eyes darkened. “You want to load it yourself?”

  “Well, no, of course not, but—”

  “Then stay out of my way.” He loaded the rest of the bags with only a little more care than the first few, walked over and opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

  “How far is the ranch?” she asked.

  “It’s about an hour’s drive from here.”

  “I guess if we’re going to be together for the next hour, I ought to at least know your name. I’m Libby Hale.”

  “Oh, we’re going to be together a lot longer than an hour.” When she struggled to climb into the truck, he gripped her waist, hoisted her up as if she weighed nothing and practically tossed her into the seat. “We’ll be spending a lot of time together in the next few weeks. My name is Sam Bridger.”

  The door slammed loudly as the name echoed through her head. Sam Bridger. The man who would determine her fate until she completed the provisions of her uncle’s will.

  As the driver’s side door opened and Bridger slid in behind the wheel, Libby felt the color climbing into her face. She didn’t like to hurt people’s feelings, and clearly she had.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you. I thought the owner would be older, you know, gray-haired, maybe a man a little closer to my uncle’s age.”

  “Sorry to disappoint.” Firing the engine, Bridger put the truck in gear and pulled away from the curb.

  “It’s not your fault. I’m just not used to, you know, being around people like you.”

  “Country bumpkins, you mean?”
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  Her cheeks burned. “No, of course not. Rural people. People who live in small towns. I was raised in the city.”

  He seemed to relax a little, the tension leaving those ridiculously wide shoulders. “With any luck, you’ll get used to it out here. Maybe you’ll even learn to like it.”

  “That’s what Bert said.”

  “And Bert is who? Your boyfriend?”

  “No. I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t date.”

  For the first time, he actually seemed interested in what she was saying.

  “What do you mean, you don’t date? A woman who looks like you?” He flicked her a glance that ran from the top of her head to the toes of her five-inch heels. “You have to have men fawning all over you.”

  She gave him a look. “Exactly the reason I don’t date.” Men did fawn all over her, but only for one reason—the way she looked. She’d been born with amazing genes, which had given her a near perfect body and a face to go with it. It was nothing more than pure luck.

  Men were interested—no question about that. But once a man got what he wanted, he was gone. None of them gave a damn about her beyond sex. Fortunately, it hadn’t taken her long to figure that out.

  “When you say you don’t date, do you mean since last week, last month, or last year?”

  She sighed. “I mean I haven’t been out with a guy for three years.”

  “So, what then? You’re a lesbian?”

  She sighed. “Sometimes I wish I were, but no. Not that there’s anything wrong with it and not that it’s any of your business.”

  “True enough.”

  “What about you? You live out in the middle of nowhere. How long since you had a date?”

  Sam laughed. It was the first time she had seen any expression of humor on his face. It changed his looks so dramatically she felt a warm tug in the pit of her stomach.

  “Well, it hasn’t been three years.”

  No, he was probably another womanizing snake. She seemed to attract them, though so far, Sam Bridger appeared to have no interest in her at all on a male-female level.