Aside from the skeletal remains of the posts where the grapes had been planted, the ten acre spread was mostly barren land. At the front of the lot sat a mid-century ranch house, typical Southern California architecture. When Kingston Construction, another Nicky King investment and my main source of income, landed a big project building a resort and casino for a local tribe, I moved into the property to be close to the job site. It had been the perfect place to set up ramps, a track and even a foam pit for practicing shit that I was sure I wouldn’t land without breaking a few bones. I’d made my dad’s failed investment into my own two wheel playground. Rodeo and Denver had been working for Kingston Construction for two years, and they’d gotten me hooked on freestyle motocross. Or as my dad liked to call it ‘that quick trip to the emergency room sport’. Both of my coworkers had won some respectable competitions, and Denver was now making more money from sponsorships than from construction.

I looked across the way to the neighbor’s property. The acreage was a far more prosperous vineyard than my dad’s. In fact, Modante Winery was the most productive and well-known wine business in the area.

I lifted my sunglasses and squinted to the stretch of cleared land off to the side of the estate’s main house. It had been set up with a riding arena and stables. A girl was leaned down over a massive black horse galloping around a jumping course.

I tilted my head that direction. “Who is that, Denver?” Denver had moved to the neighborhood when he was twelve and he knew a lot about the town.

Denver placed his helmet on the wall and hopped up next to it. We all stared over the rows of grapes at the girl riding the horse. “That would be Kensington Modante, heiress to the Modante fortune. This is only the vineyard. The actual winery is closer to town.”

“Hmm,” I said, quickly losing interest. “I’ve dated too many of those heiress types, especially the ones with their million dollar horse obsessions. They are usually all snoot and no fun.”

Rodeo kept watching her. “Yeah? Well, I wouldn’t mind a crack at a snooty heiress. I’d like to be the one to introduce her to what real fun is. Course, I guess I’d have to be the equally snooty heir to a rock fortune like you, King, to get a crack at one.”

I turned to him. “Yeah, it’s your lack of family fortune that’s keeping you out of that girl’s riding breeches.”

“What? You don’t think I could get a piece of that?” Rodeo asked, pretending to be insulted. He nodded. “Yep, there’s no fucking way, but I take comfort in knowing that you couldn’t get her either.”

“Who says?” I asked.

“Fuck,” Denver muttered. “Here we go again.”

“What are you whining about now, bitch?” Rodeo asked.

Denver huffed. “This competition and betting thing is getting old. I mean, yesterday you two were planning a trip to the airport to see who could make the metal detector go off first with the metal plates in your bodies, which was already a competition when you two were comparing who’d had more injuries and broken bones. Then, there was the Cool Hand Luke style egg eating contest, and I had to listen to both of you puking your guts out all night.”

I pressed my arm against my stomach. “Dude, told you not to ever bring that up again, or cook an egg again. Fuck don’t even mention chickens, for that matter. And besides, betting is fun. You’re on, Rodeo.”

“With getting the most air?” he asked.

“Yeah, that, but the girl too.” I looked back toward the rider.

“Don’t you want to know if she’s hot first?” Rodeo asked as he jumped off the wall.

“Just how shallow do you think I am?” I looked at Denver. “But, seriously, bro, is she?”

He nodded. “Haven’t seen her in awhile, but she’s a head turner.” A head turner coming from Denver was high praise.

I watched her fly over another jump on the horse. “That has to be almost as much a rush as jumping bikes. Is she married? Suppose I should have led with that.”

“No, but I’m sure she has a long line of suitors,” Denver said. “I heard she’s been seeing Nate Harkin, off and on. He lives out here. He has some of the same sponsors as me.”

Rodeo pushed his glasses up on his head as if that would help his hearing. “Yeah? Nate Harkin, the four-time Supercross champion?”

I glanced over at him. “Shit, you look like the starry-eyed groupies who follow my dad around the country.”

“That guy is fucking amazing, and this bet just got better. You don’t stand a chance against Nate Harkin.”

I laughed. “Fuck you, and your little Harkin bro-crush. What are the stakes?”

Rodeo straddled his bike and sat back, tapping his chin. “Let’s see. It’s got to be big enough to match the impossible feat I’ve laid out for you. Oh, I forgot, there’s one rule. You can’t tell her you’re Nicky King’s son.”

“You don’t think I can catch a girl’s interest unless I tell them I’m the son of a rock star?”

Rodeo pulled his goggles off his handlebars and slid them over his head. “Never said that. Just not that girl.” He pointed toward the vineyard.

“Let me just say that living with you two is far more fucking entertainment than I ever would have expected,” Denver said. “Does he have to sleep with her?”

“Just a date and a kiss,” I said. “Rodeo being the perv that he is, he’d probably expect pictures for proof. If I don’t get to float the Nicky King connection, then one date and one kiss in three weeks and I win. You haven’t named the stakes yet.”

Denver crossed his arms. “This should be good. I can just see those little gears grinding in his semi-empty head right now.”

A gleam sparkled in Rodeo’s eyes. “That ‘69 Corvette you’ve been wanting to restore, that’s what I want.”

I laughed. “And what the hell do I get when I win? And it better equal that car.”

Denver snapped his fingers with an idea. “Rodeo has to do all the grunt work on-site, digging ditches, moving dirt, burger runs, all the shit everyone hates to do, for a month, without whining.”

“Perfect,” I said.

Rodeo stared up from his bike, looking a little less enthusiastic about the whole thing. “A fucking month? Make it three weeks.”

“Nope,” I said. “A month. Now go hit that ramp and catch some air. The loser has to buy pizza tonight.”

Rodeo pulled his goggles up from around his neck. “I’m thinking cherry red.”

“Cherry red what?” Denver asked.

“The color I’m going to paint the Corvette when her pretty little pink slip is in my hands.” He leaned down over the handlebars and kick-started the bike. A long rooster tail of dust followed his back wheel as he took several warm-up laps around the yard.

Denver looked over at me. “Just how the hell are you going to throw yourself into the path of a winery heiress?”

“I’m thinking our alluring, equestrian neighbor has just made it onto our Halloween party guestlist.”

Chapter 2

Kensington

Bentley cantered around the end of the arena. I pointed his nose toward the last jump. There was nothing special about it, but he’d balked more than once at this particular jump, for no apparent reason except that he was a horse and he felt it his prerogative. Sometimes Bentley spooked at what I liked to call invisible scaries. I wondered if horses had a sixth sense like the kid in the movie who could see dead people.

I wiped the earlier attempts from my mind so that Bentley wouldn’t sense my tension. He needed to clear this jump without a problem before we could stop for the day. I lifted into a two-point, dropped my hands forward and kept my leg on the gelding. His stride was right, my position perfect and Bentley felt soft under my hands. We flew up and over, landing flawlessly on the other side.

I reached down and patted the horse’s neck. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it? And you’ve still got all your horsey fingers and toes.” I slowed him to a trot and circled back around. Dad was coming up the brick pathway to the arena.