Fever dream

CHAPTER 1

Emmett

EVEN A MANWHORE has to have some boundaries.

A line he won’t cross.

A thing he won’t say.

A reality show he has too much self-respect to sign up for.

“Georgia, the answer is still no.” I grumble the words without so much as looking up at the World Bull Riding Federation head of publicity. Instead, I focus on ripping off my gloves and trying not to overthink how fucking terrible my ride was tonight.

I’ve been a professional bull rider on the WBRF circuit for years now. And I’m damn good at it—one of the best in the world. And yet that championship still eludes me.

And this season is slipping through my fingers too. Which means I’m really not in the mood for this conversation. Again.

“Emmett, you should consider it. Maybe just hear them out. They won’t stop calling.”

“Then quit answering.” I toss my black cowboy hat down onto the bench in the dressing room and then roll my shoulder. Tilting my head to the side, in a stretch. Hoping to ease the pain in my neck.

It doesn’t help. So I continue undressing, turning to the silver buckle at the top of my chaps.

This is not the first time she’s brought the Romance Ranch bachelor offer to me. And it’s also not the first time I’ve been irritated by the suggestion. I don’t want to become a reality TV star. I want to win my championship and retire to my family farm in Emerald Lake where I can dedicate myself to helping keep the business in the black.

Because that place is bleeding money. Living in the red.

“Listen, you’re not getting any younger. We both know that you haven’t got a lot of years left on this circuit or at the top of your game.”

My head snaps up and I arch an irritated brow at the blond woman in the navy pinstripe pantsuit.

I do know it, but it’s still a bold thing for her to say to my face. She only tilts her head and crosses her arms, though, like she’s daring me to disagree with her.

“You should cash in while you can. Offers like these won’t be handed out to you forever.”

My molars grind against each other as I work to unzip the sides of my black leather chaps. The white and red fringe gets tangled, only adding to my agitation. I cuss under my breath, finally ripping them free and dropping them to the ground in a pile.

“Thank you for the input. But please tell them they can fuck all the way off.”

I tear open the pearl snaps that line the front of my shirt and start on my jeans. Undressing quickly because I want nothing more than to get the hell away from this conversation and from this arena.

When Georgia doesn’t respond with her usual bullheaded gusto, I glance in her direction. Her eyes are trailing down my bare chest, pausing where my thumb has flicked open my jeans. “You should leave. This is the men’s dressing room and I need to change.”

Her red painted lips roll together before she meets my eyes. “I could stay.”

I blink, somewhat confused by the offer. Because been there. Done that. Got to live through all the drama that came with it when she was wounded over me not wanting more.

“Georgia—”

She blinks once. Her bottom lip pressing out just a little farther than the top. “You used to call me Georgie.”

“That was a onetime thing.”

Three years ago.

“Two times,” she clarifies, lips twisting in a

I wince. “Okay. A one-night thing then. I’m not trying to be rude but I think I was very clear that I don’t do—”

“Relationships. I know.”

Do you though? That’s what I want to ask her, because in the wake of our hookup she certainly got the wrong idea about where we were headed. It was a lapse in judgment that taught me a lot of harsh realities.

But I don’t have the energy to console her while she cries about how good we could have been together. Or to endure several months of being snubbed by someone who is supposed to be working on boosting my public image.

No, if the Georgia experience taught me anything it’s that setting expectations is very, very important.

Now I make sure I tell women first thing what they’re signing up for.

It’s very romantic.

“You deserve better than what I have to offer, Georgia. We have a good working relationship now, let’s not—”

She barks out a laugh, shaking her head in amusement as she turns to leave. “God, you are just as dead inside as ever.” Her hand wraps around the door handle as she goes to strut out of the locker room. But not before she glances back over her shoulder and tosses out, “They’re offering you five hundred K and your family a very generous additional daily rental fee so maybe get over yourself and think it through.”

The door clicks shut behind her but I continue staring at where she stood just moments before.

Five hundred K. Five hundred thousand?

Before I can think better of it I stride across the room and rip the door open, projecting my voice down the hallway to her back, “Okay, fine. One call!”

Because for that kind of money, my boundaries can be adjusted.

“You fucking what?”

Five sets of eyes stare at me, varying degrees of horror shining in their depths, as I wait for something more than my sister’s disbelieving reaction.

As usual, the farmhouse smells like bacon, syrup, and ci

My oma and opa, Tina and Leon, look especially shaken. From across the massive rectangular table, they gape in my direction. Oma’s eyes, the same blue as mine, are wide and unblinking while my opa’s brown ones pierce straight through me.

Still not a word, so I turn to my sister Parker, seated on the bench beside me. She’s the responsible sibling; she’ll understand. Her hazel eyes look more concerned than anything, especially with the way she’s worrying her lip between her teeth.

From the head of the table, my brother, Evan, opens his mouth like he’s about to say something. But he clearly decides better and closes it, instead offering me a stu

It’s only when I finally brave looking to the opposite end of the table at my youngest sister, Riley—the wild child—that I get any elaboration on her initial question.

Her green eyes sparkle with amusement from beneath her signature ball cap, and she… bursts out laughing.

I groan and close my eyes for a beat. Then I repeat what I’d a

My clarification only causes Riley to laugh harder, garnering a stern look from our oma before my sister makes any attempt to pull herself together.

To be fair, my photo probably pops up if you google the term ineligible bachelor.

But I decided with that much money on the line it would be worth at least hearing them out. They told me they wanted a well-known professional bull rider from the World Bull Riding Federation with a “face for TV.”

Apparently, Georgia had immediately recommended me. And once they did a little digging on me, they were relentless in their pursuit. They told me I’m perfect for this gig. They even felt the Canadian setting lent an “exotic air” to the show.

And now here I am, a WBRF cowboy with a decent face ready to pretend I’m looking to settle down with a carefully curated contestant.

Riley daintily wipes at her damp eyes and takes a deep, overdramatic breath before speaking again. Her face morphs into an expression of care and concern, and her voice is one you’d use when explaining something serious to a small child. “Em, I’m not sure that anyone has explained this to you, but when you go on a dating show, you actually have to date people. Not just fuck ’em and chuck ’em.”

My eyes roll, and Evan snickers from his spot before he adds, “You and your skill set may be more suited to sex work if you want to make extra money.”

“Evan Brandt!” Oma admonishes him to a round of snickers. We all know it’s for show. Tina Brandt may be in her seventies, but she’s no prude. In fact, she might be the spiciest one sitting at this table. She’s all fun and games, where Opa is all grumbly with a big, soft heart under his stoic exterior.

Raising us has kept her young. But ru

Except now as she leans across the table, one sunspotted hand reaching for mine. I take it immediately because I’d never deny this woman a single thing.

Her bulbous knuckles bend, squeezing my fingers between hers, forcing me to meet her gaze. “When I told you we were strapped for cash this year, this is not what I expected you to do.”

I nod at that. I know she didn’t tell us over a family meal all those months ago to make us feel guilty. It was more of a general’s directive to the troops that we would need to batten down the hatches. Lend a hand when we could to keep this place afloat.

The cost of hay when ru

It was when I’d overheard her and Opa discussing filing for bankruptcy or selling off some of the land—land that’s been in his family for generations—to make ends meet for a while longer, that I caved.

I couldn’t stomach it. Not after everything they’ve done for us—for me.

I was the black sheep. The half brother with the deadbeat dad. I haven’t always been easy to love, but they loved me anyway.

Through unimaginable tragedy. Through unimaginable heartbreak. They have loved me—all four of us really.

And they have sacrificed for us. I’m sure they never imagined having to raise all four of their grandchildren. But they have showed up every day for us anyway.

Which is why I’ll fight until my dying breath for the couple sitting across from me.

I squeeze my oma’s hand and offer her a terse smile. “I know you’d never expect me to do this, but they’ll host it here at the farm for a rental fee. It will only take six weeks to film, around July, so most of the foals should be on the ground by then. It’s offseason for me, so I’d be here anyway. What I make I’ll give over too. Take the pressure off for a bit.”