They’re enemy territory—off-limits, untouchable, strictly forbidden.
Which would be easier to remember if one didn’t scowl like I just insulted his horse, another didn’t smirk and call me trouble like he’s dying to prove it, and the third didn’t keep dragging me into the kind of mischief that feels way too good to resist.
Our families have been at war for decades over chili ribbons, potato salad, and a bull with no boundaries.
So yeah, sneaking across fences, kissing them breathless, and letting three rival cowboys ruin me six ways to Sunday? Worst. Idea. Ever. Forbidden? Absolutely. Worth it? You have no idea.
