by Lori Wilde
Emma looked as if she were bursting to share Deannie’s news. “It’s not for me to say.”
Brodie stared at her. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” she said. “At least I don’t think so.”
Alarm rippled over him as he realized just exactly how much he had at stake. “Deannie? What is it?”
“I wanted to wait until tonight to tell you while we watched the fireworks, but since Emma spilled the beans—”
Yes? He could hardly breathe, terrified that something bad had happened.
But Deannie’s wide grin put him completely at ease. “I went to the doctor yesterday—”
His fear was back. “Are you sick? What’s happened?”
“I’ve got a touch of morning sickness, but other than that—”
“M…morning sickness?” As the implication of her words swept over him, total joy filled Brodie’s heart. “You’re pregnant.”
“Yes, we are.” Her sweet smile lit him up inside.
A baby. They were having a baby of their own.
“Are you happy?”
“My love,” he cried, swinging her into his arms and spinning her around. “I have never been happier!”
“I’m thinking if it’s a girl we could name her Melinda.”
“After my mother.” His throat tightened, and he kissed her again. “And if it’s a boy, we’ll call him Gil.”
“Oh, Brodie.” Joyful tears misted her eyes.
In that moment, surrounded by family and friends, Brodie realized all his dreams had come true, and all the losses he and Deannie had suffered had been wiped away. A clean slate. A whole new beginning for Willow Creek Ranch. They’d learned from the mistakes of their past, and they could walk confidently into a bright future together.
And as he kissed his wife again there underneath the brightly colored umbrella, Brodie knew his yearning heart had at long last been filled.
DEAR READER,
Readers are an author’s life blood and the stories couldn’t happen without you. Thank you so much for reading. If you enjoyed Brodie, I would so appreciate a review. You have no idea how much it means!
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Please turn the page for an excerpt of the next book in the Texas Rascals series, Dan.
To check out my other books, you can visit me on the web @ www.loriwilde.com.
EXCERPT: DAN
Raleigh Travers needed a job—badly.
She’d dressed carefully for the interview in faded jeans, a navy blue, ribbed tank top and scuffed cowboy boots. Her copper-colored hair hung down her back in a thick, single braid, and she’d tied a red bandanna around her head to keep perspiration from her eyes. She hoped she looked tough, serious and in control.
Turning her battered brown Ford pickup off the main highway, she rumbled onto a graveled road. She goosed the cranky truck up a steady incline, and a chalky cloud of dust billowed beneath the worn tires. Wind rushed in through the open window, whipping tendrils of hair into her face. Flipping down the visor, she retrieved a pair of aviator sunglasses and pushed them up on her nose.
She drummed fingers on the steering wheel, blew out her breath and leaned over to turn on the radio. Ernest Tubb was singing “Drivin’ Nails in My Coffin.”
The old tune grated on her jittery nerves. She snapped off the radio and lowered the brim of her cowboy hat. She had to get this job. If she couldn’t come up with the rent money by Monday, she and Caleb would be out on the street.
“Raleigh, you’re gonna have to do some tall talkin’,” she said to her reflection in the rearview mirror.
Pa’s pitiful insurance settlement was gone. During the previous six months she’d done her best to find work, but she’d been repeatedly turned down for countless jobs— jobs she was perfectly capable of performing. Even old friends and customers who knew she was a dam good farrier denied her a chance. They all said the same thing—she was too small, too young, too feminine to be doing such rough labor.
Funny, no one had thought that way when she’d worked side by side with her father, shoeing horses from dawn until dusk, but then she’d just been Will Travers’s tomboy daughter. Now, while she struggled to get her own business started, the townsfolk refused to take her seriously.
Over and over, she’d been advised to find work waiting tables or typing reports or watching children. Some even suggested she find a husband. As if this were twentieth century instead of a new millennium.
Marriage? She snorted. With a younger brother to support, dating was the last thing on her mind.
Besides, she couldn’t bear the pain of falling in love again. Immediately she thought of Jack and the awful events that had irrevocably altered her life. The familiar ache echoed inside her like lonely whispers in an empty dream.
Raleigh tossed her head. No. She would not relive past sorrows. Her future held more pressing concerns than self- pity.
Gritting her teeth, she grasped the steering wheel tighter and thought of her upcoming interview. West of town, a new owner had started renovations on a ramshackle horse ranch. She hoped to find the present management more receptive to a female farrier than the hardheaded, shortsighted citizens of Rascal, Texas.
Up ahead she could see the entrance to the ranch. Barbed wire gave way to white wooden corral fencing. Above the gateway hung a brand-new six-foot sign proclaiming McClintock Dude Ranch.
Dude ranch? In Rascal?
Raleigh smiled and hoped the newcomer’s wallet matched his flair for farfetched fantasies. The cost of making this project work would not come cheap.
Bumping over the cattle guard, Raleigh lumbered onto the barren landscape of sagebrush, cactus, bull nettles, scrub oaks and yucca. Aiming her pickup down the narrow, rutted road, she rattled and jolted across the arid pasture, and pulled to a stop in the middle of a wide circular driveway.
The place was in the midst of reconstruction. Cement forms were tossed in haphazard heaps beside piles of mounded earth. Stacks of raw lumber decorated the rough terrain, and the smell of fresh paint lingered on the sultry breeze.
A buzzard flew overhead, casting a dark shadow across the pickup’s hood. A quiver of fear shivered through her and she had no idea why.
Straight in front of her hulked a large, two-story farmhouse. A bright red barn graced the hill behind the house. Next to the barn sat two stables, a small log cabin, probably meant for the ranch hands, an exercise yard and three separate corrals. Opposite the house sprawled a dilapidated swimming pool, deserted tennis courts, and a faded shuffleboard slab.
The old place was a getting a fresh start. Who was behind it?
Her pulse danced. Raleigh hankered for a fresh start too.
A mix of Thoroughbreds and quarter horses grazed in the fields. Two dozen at least. Enough to net her well over two thousand dollars if she got the job of shoeing them all.
She opened the pickup door and swung to the ground. Her bootheels sunk into the yielding sand. Tucking her fingertips into her back pockets, she scanned the area.
No one in sight.
Ignore the sweaty palms. You’re calm. You’re cool. You’ve got this. Braid bouncing between her shoulder blades, she stalked across the exercise yard. Called out, “Anybody home?”
No answer.
She climbed over the corral gate and stopped to scratch the nose of a friendly gelding Thoroughbred who wandered over. “Hey, boy,” she cooed.
The horse nuzzled her arm in greeting.
“Where’s your owner?” Curious, she stooped over, lifted the Thoroughbred’s right foreleg and examined his shoe. He definitely needed a new set.
She clicked her tongue, pulled a sugar cube from her pocket and offered it to the gelding.
“Hey, you! You there! What do you think you’re doing?” A rough masculine voice said.
Raleigh’s head snapped up.
The horse nickered. She dropped the gelding’s
leg, turned. Her sunglasses slipped down on her nose. She pushed them back up, and squinted at the tall, commanding figure striding toward her.
Thick eyebrows formed a frowning V on his wide forehead. A stubble of heavy beard enhanced his angular jaw. He wore tight jeans and a blue chambray work shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing hairy, muscular forearms. A black cowboy hat rode his head. He towered over her, obstructing her view of the sky. Broad of chest and trim of waist, he presented an appealing if somewhat threatening package.
“You talking to me?” She pointed a hand at herself. An odd stab of excitement raced through her. They exchanged a searing glance.
“I don’t see anyone else messing around with my horse, so I must be talking to you. Who are you?” he demanded.
Not one to be intimidated, even by a man twice her size, Raleigh drew herself up to her full five foot nothing and knotted her hands into fists.
“I’m Raleigh Travers. Who are you?”
The man took a determined step toward her.
Raleigh stood her ground.
He reached over and clamped a large paw on her shoulder.
Whoa there you handsy buzzard. Reflexively, Raleigh turned and drove her arm backward, jabbing her elbow straight into his lean, hard, abs.
The instant she let loose, it hit her who he was—she’d just assaulted her potential boss!
Daniel McClintock blinked twice and expelled his breath, absorbing the unexpected punch. Amused, he stared at her freckled, pixie face. The tiny twister packed one heck of a wallop.
Listen at that, McClintock, only here a month and you’re already picking up the local lingo.
“Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?” She slapped a hand across a mouth so pink and sweet Dan quelled a powerful urge to kiss her.
“Honey,” he drawled, “what do you think I’m made of? Marshmallows? Of course you didn’t hurt me.”
“Oh, that’s good.” She whipped off her sunglasses and clutched them tight. “I didn’t mean to elbow you like that. I just hate for men to grab me.”
“And I didn’t mean to be so forceful,” he said wondering what kind of men had grabbed her and when. The thought of some creep manhandling this petite filly lit a flame of anger inside him.
“You weren’t. You were well within your rights. You had no idea who I was. I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have climbed into the corral.” She looked distressed and nibbled on her bottom lip.
He took in her worn jeans and faded work shirt, her scuffed boots and cheap straw hat. Noticed how lean she was. “Don’t worry about it.”
“You okay?” She nodded at his belly as if she’d actually done some damage.
He fanned his fingers over his gut, surprised by the tingle he felt growing there.
“Listen, can we start over?” She pocketed her sunglasses and extended a hand. “I’m Raleigh Travers.”
He liked her no-nonsense attitude. Straight to the point. “Daniel McClintock.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Dan touched her work-roughed palm. The sudden pinching sensation, as if a screw had been tightened in his chest, startled him. What was this feeling?
Trouble was written on her face for anyone to read. Dark shadows circled her gray eyes and her lips were pressed tight in a line of worry. She held her thin shoulders ironing-board stiff in a tough, defensive. What heavy burdens did she carry?
“Anybody ever teach you it’s not polite to stare?” She crossed her arms and raised a quizzical eyebrow. Looked both amused and irritated. She was a bristly little thing, but underneath, he could see a trampled joy needed dusting off and shining up.
“Oh. Was I staring?” His fingers curled over hers and held them captive.
“Yes.” She telegraphed him a steady glare.
Befuddled, he dropped her hand. The woman unnerved him, plain and simple. His gaze drifted over her delicate features. He admired her long, burnished copper braid, her peachy complexion, her strawberry lips. Alarmed by the undeniable tug of attraction churning inside him, Dan tilted his head and angled her a sideways glance.
“Well, then,” he said. “What can I do for you, Ms. Travers?”
“I’m looking for a job.”
“A job?”
She hitched her thumbs through her belt loops. It was a warm day with a cloudy sky and tiny beads of perspiration dotted her upper lip. “I heard talk in town that you might need a farrier.”
“That’s true,” he conceded. “I do need a cowhand, but you’re not exactly what I had in mind.” His gaze traveled to the hollow of her long, slender neck.
The cotton material of her tank top stretched seductively across firm, high breasts. Those jeans with holes in the knees hugged her hips like a surgeon’s glove. Did she really expect him to believe she shod horses for a living?
“I’m strong,” she said, her voice both brightly earnest and darkly desperate. She flexed a muscle-woman bicep. “I may be small, but I’m wiry.”
Wiry is right, Dan thought, and swallowed. His gut could attest to that. He placed a hand to his abdomen when her elbow had poked into him.
Her chin notched in defiance, but her eyes said something different. “I can do the work as well as any man.”
He needed an inexperienced farrier about as much as he needed three thumbs. Considering the time constraints facing him, he had enough trouble keeping to his schedule without a testy woman underfoot.
“Let me prove myself. Let me shoe that thoroughbred.” She nodded at the gelding. “On the house. Give me a chance. Let me show you what I can do. What have you got to lose?”
The look in her eyes challenged him. Intrigued by the woman and her unexpected lure, Dan nodded. “No harm in giving you a tryout, I suppose.”
He wanted to see her in action. She had guts, no doubt about it. Waltzing in here asking for a job while at the same time dishing out a healthy dose of attitude. He suspected she’d developed her feistiness as a defense mechanism. It couldn’t be easy, working as a diminutive female farrier.
“Thank you.” Her smile was humble and affected him like an arrow shot from a crossbow straight into the center of an oak tree. He could almost hear the vibrating thud.
“I’ll go get my supplies,” she said, dusting her hands together.
“Let me help.” He moved toward her truck.
“No, sir. I’m going to prove to you I can handle all aspects of this job and that includes hauling around my own equipment. I don’t want it being said Raleigh Travers can’t pull her own weight.”
All one hundred pounds of it, he thought. Dan doubted if anyone could ever say such a thing about this fireball. Cocking his head, he watched her back pockets sway as she hustled to the pickup bed.
Hold on, Dan, my man, now’s not the time to be falling in lust. As if there was a good time to get tangled up with women. More than once, a shapely behind had orchestrated his downfall. Which was one of the reasons he was in Rascal, Texas, making a new start.
Hoisting a shoebox full of tools, a leather apron, a tripod and a wooden frame from the bed of her pickup, Raleigh strained to grip the supplies in both arms. Dan had to force himself not to help her. She was independent, and he wasn’t about to offend her again.
He rubbed his belly and grinned.
They walked to the corral, and Dan held the gate open for her. He breathed in the sweet, dry aroma of hay, horseflesh, West Texas sand and Raleigh Travers.
“Here, fella.” She spoke softly to the gelding. The horse pricked up his ears at the sound of her voice and whinnied. “I’m going to give you a new pair of shoes.”
Placing the shoe box, tripod and frame on the ground, she tied the leather apron around her waist and at the back of each knee. Opening a box of nails, she stuck a handful to the magnet sewed into the back comer of her apron.
Pretty ingenious.
“Well, don’t just stand there, hold the horse,” she said.
Horses weren’t the only animals she knew how to handle. Dan
leapt to do her bidding, quickly grabbing the gelding’s bridle.
“His name is Matt Dillon,” he told her.
“Oh? You a western fan?”
“When I was a kid,” he admitted. “I gobble old reruns of Gunsmoke. I always wanted a horse named Matt Dillon. See that stray pup over there?” He nodded in the direction of a rangy yellow dog lounging in the shadow of a hay baler.
“Kinda sad-looking,” Raleigh eyed the dog, who sat up and scratched at his long floppy ear.
“That’s why I adopted him. He needed me. His name’s Chester.”
“He looks like a Chester,” she agreed. “Where’s Doc, Miss Kitty and Festus?”
“Haven’t acquired them yet.”
She peeped up at him, a slight smile on her face. She waved off a horsefly buzzing around Matt Dillion. “How long you been living out here?”
“Little less than a month. Buying this ranch was a fulfillment of my childhood dreams. I’ve always been enamored of cowboys and the West. One day I realized I’d already wasted too many years riding a desk in downtown Dallas. I took my life’s savings and turned my dream into a reality.”
“You’re renovating this place into a dude ranch in order to relive your childhood?”
“Partly.”
He wouldn’t tell her the real reason this venture had to work. It was private, and he barely knew her. Tightly gripping the supple leather of Matt Dillon’s bridle, Dan closed his eyes and envisioned the dream—a money-making dude ranch, catering to wealthy vacationers from around the world. A place where people could unplug from the stress of technology and get in touch with nature. To challenge themselves and find who they were deep inside. He was determined to prove to the old man that once and for all, that he could stand on his own two feet.
For six years he’d labored at a job he’d hated, saving his money and preparing for the day he could break free from the stranglehold his domineering father squeezed on the entire family.
His older brothers, Jamie and Mike, were firmly entrenched in the business. They would never escape. But he’d done it, and he was determined to succeed. He found the thought of returning home a failure and listening to his father’s “I told you so” intolerable. He would succeed or die trying.