Love Finds You in Valentine, Nebraska

by Irene Brand

  BY IRENE BRAND

  SummeRSIde

  PRESS

  Love Finds You in Valentine, Nebraska

  © 2008 by Irene Brand

  ISBN 978-1-934770-38-2

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.

  All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

  Scripture quotations are also taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  The town depicted in this book is a real place, but all characters are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people or events are purely coincidental.

  Cover and Interior Design by Müllerhaus Publishing Group | www.mul erhaus.net

  Published by Summerside Press, Inc., 11024 Quebec Circle, Bloomington, Minnesota 55438 | www.summersidepress.com Fal in love with Summerside.

  Printed in the USA.

  Acknowledgments

  During the writing of this book, I worked with a very supportive editorial team at Summerside Press. I especially value the encouragement and help of Rachel Meisel and Jason Rovenstine.

  I also owe a debt of gratitude to my agent, Chip MacGregor, who believed in my work and forwarded the beginning of this manuscript to Summerside Press…

  and to a group of fellow authors who have encouraged me and prayed for me when all was going well and commiserated with me when I was discouraged.

  Thanks are also due to the kind people of Valentine, Nebraska, including:

  Lisbeth Sherman and Pauline Ravenscroft at the ARK

  The staff at Midland News

  Marsha Bauer and Carleen Buechle at the Holiday Inn

  Shelly Frank at Cedar Canyon Steakhouse

  Members of the First Baptist Church

  Vickie Cumbow, Flower Land florist

  And I wouldn’t forget to acknowledge the support of my readers, some of whom have been reading my books for twenty-four years.

  Lastly, but not least, I couldn’t have started or continued my writing career without the love, encouragement, and help of my husband, Rod, who proofreads my manuscripts, accompanies me to book fairs and writing conferences, and who carries a large load of our household/business responsibilities to give me the opportunity to fulfill my Christian writing ministry.

  DESPITE ITS ROMANTIC NAME, VALENTINE, NEBRASKA, WAS actually named for congressman Edward K. Valentine, chairman of the house committee on agriculture in the 1880s. Agriculture has always been the predominant industry in Valentine, as its location makes it ideal for ranching. It is situated near the banks of the scenic Niobrara River and nestled among Nebraska’s famed Sand Hills—rich prairieland that remains one of the best regions in the country for raising cattle. Today, “The Heart City” is the seat of Cherry County and boasts a population of 2,800 residents. Downtown Valentine is divided by its wide Main Street, which is home to arts and craft shops, museums, bookstores, popular cafés and restaurants, and a large western wear store where cowboys have shopped since 1950. The Niobrara is a popular canoeing river, and tourists also enjoy the Smith Falls and Snake River Falls nearby. One of the highlights of the year is Bull Bash Day, held on the Saturday closest to Valentine’s Day, when ranchers from Nebraska and other states display their prize-winning animals along Main Street.

  Irene Brand

  Chapter One

  Uncertainty had plagued Kennedy Blaine since she’d boarded an early-morning flight at the Los Angeles International Airport and landed in Omaha, Nebraska.

  Her doubts escalated while she drove to her destination through the abundant grasslands of the Sandhills region of the state. Apprehension washed through Kennedy’s heart with the power of an ocean wave when she eased the rental car to a stop before the driveway framed by a metal arch bearing the words CIRCLE

  CROSS RANCH.

  A warning voice whispered in her head, It’s still not too late to turn back.

  Tormented by conflicting emotions, Kennedy forced herself to settle down. What had happened to the confidence, courage, and hardheadedness that her father had often told her was the only inheritance she’d received from her maternal relatives, the Morgans? Considering Kenneth Blaine’s resentment of his wife’s family, it hadn’t been a compliment. Kennedy’s personal annoyance increased when she noticed that her hands were shaking like leaves buffeted by a strong prairie wind.

  “Hey, get hold of yourself,” she said aloud, in an attempt to bolster her self-confidence. “The Circle Cross Ranch belongs to you, so why shouldn’t you visit the place you’ve wanted to see all your life?”

  This personal scolding calmed Kennedy to the extent that she released the brake and turned left onto the graveled driveway. Most of the trees still weren’t in full leaf, but Valentine was apparently too far north to expect summer foliage by the first of May. She immediately crossed a cattle guard of folded parallel ridges and troughs, with the car shaking as if she’d driven across a corrugated roof. Hereford cattle grazed in wide, luxuriant pastures, and many of them turned to watch her as she drove slowly up the lane, eagerly looking for her birthplace, Riverside, which had been built by a Blaine ancestor more than a century ago. After a few miles she entered a large open area surrounded by barns, machinery sheds, several other metal and wooden buildings, and a one-story frame residence. The whole area was bordered on the north and west by thickets of evergreens.

  With a sweeping glance, she noted the absence of the large white house she’d expected to see. Still, the ranch had a homey atmosphere. Several horses grazed in a corral. A few cows stopped chewing their cuds to look her way. Chickens industriously scratched the ground behind a woven wire fence.

  Wondering if she was at the wrong place, Kennedy stopped the car not far from the dwelling. A man and a black-and-white dog came around the side of the house, and Kennedy stared in disbelief. Fleetingly, her misgivings changed to amazement.

  Marshal Matt Dillon in the flesh, she thought humorously. During her teens, Kennedy had watched Western reruns by the dozens, having a big crush on the handsome hero as he engaged in gunfights, righted wrongs, and rescued women in distress. And here he was strolling toward her, tall and straight as a sequoia tree.

  The cowboy walked gracefully with an air of self-confidence, exactly like her television heartthrob, James Arness, who had fascinated Kennedy each time he appeared on the screen. Scanning him from head to toe, she took in every aspect of his appearance. A wide-brimmed hat was pushed back on his forehead, revealing brown hair that curled around his ears. A leather vest and plaid shirt covered his massive shoulders. His slender thighs and long, sturdy legs were encased in denim. And his well-worn brown leather boots had pointed toes and high heels, just like the ones her favorite TV cowboy had worn.

  Kennedy stepped out of the car and waited for him. She considered herself to be above average in height for a woman, but this pseudo–movie star towered over her by at least a foot.

  The dog barked, and a low growl rumbled in its throat.

  “Quiet, Wilson,” the man demanded in a deep voice. The dog stilled, but he took a rigid stance and bared his teeth at Kennedy.

  The man’s dark eyes appraised Kennedy skeptically. “What can we do for you, ma’am? Are you lost?” Up to this point, Kennedy hadn’t decided whether or not to reveal her true identity, but she spoke impulsively, “I’m Kennedy Blaine. I own this ranch.” The man’s expression changed from disbelief to amusement to cynicism to anger. His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  �
��Yeah? Well, I own Rockefeller Center in New York City.”

  Kennedy’s temper flared. She longed to slap him, and it took all of her willpower not to stamp her foot. “I tell you, I’m Kennedy Blaine. I inherited this ranch two months ago when my father died.”

  “Now, lady,” he said. His condescending tone angered Kennedy even more than his words. “If you are who you say you are, why didn’t Smith Blaine tell me you were coming? I can’t allow every woman who stops by here to take ownership.” Anger sharpened her normally gentle voice. “Let me ask you a few questions. Who are you?”

  “Derek Sterling.”

  The name was unfamiliar to her. Smith Blaine, her father’s cousin and the Circle Cross’s accountant, handled all the ranch affairs. Kennedy searched her memory for some mention of Derek Sterling from her father. But she was certain she hadn’t heard anything about this man who moved menacingly closer to her. Hands on his hips, his dark eyes blazed down into hers.

  Too late, Kennedy wondered if her impulsive decision to visit the ranch unannounced had been wise. Should she have heeded the mental warning that had nagged her all day? She was among strangers, and she hadn’t told anyone, not even her lawyer or her housekeeper, about this surprise visit to the ranch. Though they knew she was going out of town, she’d never given her destination.

  Her anger quickly changed to concern, and Kennedy turned toward her car. Although retreating from the battle, she still wanted to have the last word. Over her shoulder she said, “I hadn’t expected a cordial welcome in Valentine, but I certainly didn’t think I’d be chased off my own property by a cowhand and his mongrel dog!”

  Derek Sterling had had a bad day. A herd of cattle had broken through the fence and eaten an acre of alfalfa before they’d been discovered. He and the other ranch hands had spent the morning rounding up the cattle and fixing the fence. And the worst blow was when one of his own horses had broken a leg, causing the animal to have to be put down. No matter how hard he worked, he just couldn’t get ahead. Was he destined to always work for someone else rather than to buy a ranch of his own?

  It was the last straw when this young woman barged in unannounced. He rather admired her fighting spirit, and he smothered a smile when she called his registered Australian Cattle Dog a mongrel. But it cut pretty deep when she labeled him a cowhand. He was glad she was leaving. If she was Kennedy Blaine, he could deal with her tomorrow.

  Derek’s annoyance turned to concern when he saw her lips tremble and tears fill her eyes as she opened the car door. A shaft of sunlight struck her face, and the moisture in her emerald eyes reminded him of early morning sunlight mirrored in a Sandhills lake. His heart hammered against his ribs, a shock ran through his body, and he was totally and compellingly attracted to her. In all of his twenty-eight years he’d never experienced anything like this! So unexpected and unusual was the emotion that Derek was momentarily too stunned to know what to do about it.

  was the emotion that Derek was momentarily too stunned to know what to do about it.

  But when she slid into the seat of the car and lowered her head on the steering wheel, he galvanized into action. With one long step, he reached her.

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry. I’ve had a rough day, but that didn’t give me any reason to take my rotten mood out on you. Let’s start over.” Swiping at her eyes with a delicate long-fingered hand, the woman reached into a leather bag beside her and took out her billfold. When she lifted her tearstained face to him, Derek experienced a ripple of anticipation unlike any feeling he’d ever known.

  “I really am Kennedy Blaine,” she said. She opened the billfold, which displayed her driver’s license, and handed the billfold to Derek. “See, that proves who I am.”

  Derek no longer doubted that she was who she claimed to be, but to get his emotions in check before he dared to speak, he glanced at her license and noted that her age was twenty-six. She was five feet seven inches tall and weighed 130 pounds. She had green eyes and blond hair and, as usual, the license photo didn’t do justice to her beauty.

  Handing the billfold back to her, he said, “I’m sorry for giving you such a poor welcome to the Circle Cross.” He held the car door open. Motioning to the house, he said, “I live here with my mother, and she has supper about ready. Come on inside and eat with us.” Kennedy stepped out of the car, and the wind ruffled through her blond hair that spread gracefully over her shoulders.

  “By the way, I’m the ranch manager.”

  Seemingly embarrassed, Kennedy exclaimed, “And I called you a cowhand!”

  “That, too,” he said. “My father managed the ranch for a long time, and when he died a few years ago, Mr. Blaine asked me to take over.” They climbed the steps to the porch of the house. Derek opened the screen door into a combination living/dining/kitchen area. “This has been my home since I was a teenager.”

  “But where’s Riverside, the Blaine home?”

  “About a mile from here. I’ll take you there as soon as we eat.” He hung his hat on a hall tree. “Hey, Mom,” he called. “We’ve got company.” A tiny woman, about five feet tall, turned from the kitchen stove and moved toward them. Momentarily, Kennedy was amazed that such a small woman had given birth to a hunk like Derek.

  “Mom, this is Kennedy Blaine, the owner of the Circle Cross. I invited her to supper. Miss Blaine, this is my mother, June Sterling.” Kennedy hardly knew how to take Derek—he had completely changed from the skeptical man who’d practically ordered her off the ranch to a friendly, congenial host.

  “Oh, my!” June said, and she swiped at the gray hair that framed her oval face. She quickly surveyed the large room with a critical gaze. “I’m afraid we’re not fixed for company. I’d have prepared a big meal if I’d have known you were coming.” Chagrined, Kennedy said, “Don’t let me be a bother to you. I’m going to spend the night at a motel in Valentine. I can eat there and come back tomorrow to look around. I wanted to check out the ranch, but I should have let you know that I was coming.”

  “Now, Mom, you know you always have twice as much food as we can eat. Miss Blaine can have supper with us, and I’ll take her to Riverside before she goes into town.”

  “You’re right, son,” Mrs. Sterling said. “It flustered me a little to have a visit from the owner of the ranch. Come into the kitchen. I was ready to dish up the food.” She reached toward Kennedy to shake her hand.

  Kennedy felt a tinge of remorse that she’d barged in like she had and grasped the woman’s hand warmly. “I tried to contact Cousin Smith to tell him I was coming, but his secretary said that he and his wife are vacationing in Europe for two weeks. I’ve dealt with all of my father’s estate except the ranch, and I didn’t want to wait until Smith came back to see what has to be done here.”

  June nodded and quickly put another plate and silverware on the table. “The bathroom is down the hallway on the left if you want to freshen up,” she said.

  Kennedy excused herself and left the room. When she returned, June invited Kennedy to be seated before placing the food on the table, which consisted of a bowl of red beans, a platter of baked pork chops, a salad, and a pan of corn bread.

  “Not much of a meal for a Blaine,” she said apologetically. “My husband would turn over in his grave if he knew I’d set you down to a meal like this.” Trying to put Mrs. Sterling at ease, Kennedy said, “Dad never lost his fondness for Nebraska cooking. We often ate corn bread and beans.” After a brief prayer of thanks, June passed the food and Kennedy served herself. When their plates were filled, June said, “Mr. Blaine told us he’s had an offer to sell the ranch.”

  “Yes, he called and talked to me about it,” Kennedy said. “That’s the main reason I made this trip to Valentine.”

  “We didn’t know the ranch was for sale until a week or so ago,” Derek commented.

  “I didn’t know, either,” Kennedy answered with a slight laugh. “Dad had apparently given Smith free rein on ranch matters, and he seemed to think I’d okay the sale withou
t question. I might have if I hadn’t had an overwhelming urge to see Riverside while it was still in the family. I was born in the house and lived there until I was almost two. Besides, this ranch has been in the Blaine family for years and years. I couldn’t let it go without seeing it.” Kennedy noted the quick glance that Derek’s mother slanted toward him, before she quickly said, “I think you did the right thing. This is a fine ranch, and not one you’d want to sell without knowing something about it.”

  After the main course, Mrs. Sterling served them apple pie à la mode. After her first bite, Kennedy said, “This is the best pie I’ve ever eaten! I’ve loved your food

  —thanks for sharing it with me.”

  “It’s just plain ranch grub, but I’m mighty pleased that you enjoyed it,” June responded genuinely.

  By the time they finished the meal—and after Kennedy had been told to call them June and Derek—she felt that she really was welcome in their home. June poured cups of coffee for all of them, and Derek pushed back from the table and crossed one leg over his knee. “So tell us about yourself, Miss Blaine.” With a grin, she said, “I will if you’ll call me Kennedy.”

  He nodded, and Kennedy wished she could interpret the mystery of his gaze, which awakened a strange surge of excitement in her heart. She lowered her eyes to hide her thoughts from him.

  “That’s a pretty name,” June said. “I don’t believe I’ve heard it before.”

  Smiling, Kennedy said, “Probably not. My mother was convinced that I would be a boy, and she planned to name her firstborn Kenneth, Jr., after Dad. When I arrived instead of a boy, she didn’t have a girl’s name in mind, so she called me Kennedy.”

  “I like to learn different names, and I believe your mother made a good choice,” June said.

  “I suppose you know about the age-old feud between the Blaines and the Morgans,” Kennedy began.

  “We don’t hear much about it anymore,” June said. “Sometimes during elections the old hatreds flare up, but most folks don’t pay any attention to it nowadays.”