by Leslie North
McCall Ranch Brothers
The Rancher’s Inherited Family
The Cowboy’s Rescue
The Cowboy’s Pregnant Sweetheart
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
RELAY PUBLISHING EDITION, JANUARY 2020
Copyright © 2020 Relay Publishing Ltd.
All rights reserved. Published in the United Kingdom by Relay Publishing. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Leslie North is a pen name created by Relay Publishing for co-authored Romance projects. Relay Publishing works with incredible teams of writers and editors to collaboratively create the very best stories for our readers.
Cover design by Mayhem Cover Creations.
www.relaypub.com
Blurb
Single mom Heather Browning will do anything to get away from her controlling ex-husband--including buying a rundown strawberry farm in Montana. Maybe the locals are right, maybe she is crazy. Still, she’ll do anything to keep her twin son and daughter safe and happy—and keep her ex out of the picture. When her only horse comes up lame, she calls local veterinarian Randy McCall. The sexy cowboy takes one look at her farm and dilapidated house and offers his help, but Heather is quick to say no. She doesn’t need anyone’s help—no matter how gorgeous and tempting Randy is. But after hurting her ankle and discovering her roof is riddled with leaks, she reluctantly agrees to temporarily move herself and the twins to the McCall Ranch. If Heather wanted a charming, sexy, man—which she does not—Randy would be perfect. Good thing she only wants to be friends…
For as long as he can remember, Randy has liked saving things. So when he’s hit with the impossible-to-ignore need to help Heather, he chalks it up to his nature. Thanks to matchmaking townsfolk, Randy is “given” to Heather for twenty-four hours of free labor, and he’s happy to oblige. It’s certainly not because he’s crazy attracted to her. Definitely not because the twins are making him think silly thoughts about being a dad. And no way is it because that one soft kiss made his heart feel like it was struck by lightning. Even as Randy tells himself—over and over—that he’s not a relationship kind of guy, his stubborn heart doesn’t believe it. Knowing Heather has already been hurt by a man, he decides to stop things before they get out of hand. But can he stop himself from falling in love?
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
End of The Cowboy’s Rescue
Thank You
About Leslie
Sneak Peek: The Cowboy’s Pregnant Sweetheart
Also by Leslie
1
Randy McCall maneuvered his truck down the worn, dusty road that led to his next stop, the old Fincher property, which straddled the edge of the Winding Creek, Montana town line. Although everyone in town still called it the Fincher place, in truth it hadn't been occupied by the Fincher family, or anyone else for that matter, in at least a decade. In a place like Winding Creek, leaving a place didn't erase the former owners’ name. The Fincher property would continue being the Fincher place in the minds of the people of Winding Creek no matter who decided to buy the place.
"Won't make things easy for her," he muttered to himself, wincing as he bounced out of a particularly intense pothole. He let loose a string of curse words that would have made a sailor blush and downshifted his truck into the next lowest gear.
It wasn't only the potholes that had him in such a rotten mood. As things stood, he wouldn't have been in good spirits no matter what he was doing, not while he was in Winding Creek, anyhow. Though he'd been back home for some months now, things hadn't gotten any easier. He kept expecting to wake up feeling more resigned to his new circumstances, but so far, he was seeing little progress in that area.
Hands tight on the steering wheel, he mentally ticked off points for the thousandth time—as if repetition might alter things. His parents were dead, and that wasn't going to change. He and his two brothers were in charge of the ranch now, and according to their parents' will, all three of them had to live on the ranch for a full year before the estate could be properly settled, unless a particular set of extenuating circumstances presented itself. Initially, the oldest brother, Trevor, had carried the burden while Randy and Carson had tied up loose ends in their lives. Now, however, Trevor was married to Lacey with a new baby on the way and two businesses to take care of. He still helped care for the McCall ranch when he could spare the time, but these days Randy bore most of the responsibility, at least when Carson was away at one of his rodeo circuit stints.
Randy’s frustrated thoughts broke off as he pulled up in front of the Fincher farm's main house, and he let out a low whistle. “No wonder they’re calling her crazy,” he said quietly.
Randy had dim memories of visiting the Fincher farm a time or two with his parents and brothers when he was small, but it certainly hadn't looked then the way it did now. The house itself was a rambling, two-story structure, with porches on both the first and second stories. He remembered playing up on that second-floor balcony with one of the Fincher boys, tossing water balloons down onto the heads of their unsuspecting victims. The way it looked now, though, there was no way that someone, even a child, could stand on that balcony without falling through. The whole house appeared to be sorely in need of attention, like a thoroughly exhausted person caving in on himself. What was left of the formerly white paint, peeling off in small sheets, had a decidedly gray tint. Nothing about the house screamed "this is a place I want to live," and for the life of him, he couldn't understand why the "crazy lady" would have gotten it in her head to purchase the place. He understood even less when two little kids came barreling out through the rickety front door, slapping at each other as they went.
“No!” the angelic blonde girl screeched, flailing at the boy coming after her at top speed. “Don’t touch me, Andy!”
Andy, a shorter-haired copy of the girl, proceeded to do the opposite of what his sister demanded. He grabbed for her hair with his grubby little hands, crowing with delight as his fingers caught hold. The girl shrieked again, louder this time, then burst into loud, unhappy sobs.
"Good lord, isn't anybody taking care of them?" Randy grumbled, climbing out of his truck and heading toward the porch steps. He was looking forward to the arrival of Trevor and Lacey's kid, but otherwise, he preferred to keep children at arm's length.
"That's enough, both of you!" shouted a harried-sounding female voice from inside the house. Seconds later, the screen door banged open, and a woman Randy could only assume
was the children's mother shot out onto the porch.
“Please, Andy, leave your sister alone!” she cried, taking the little boy by the wrist and untwining his fingers from his sister’s halo of golden curls.
“We’re just playing, Mamma,” Andy whined before peeking around his mother’s legs to stick out his tongue at his sister.
“Are you now?” the woman said with a strained laugh. “Because from where I’m standing, mister, Amelia doesn’t seem to be having a very good time. Are you, baby?”
"I dunno," the small girl answered sullenly, her eyes cutting to her little family and then back down to the dirty wooden slats of the porch. "There's a man, Mommy. A man looking."
The woman's head snapped up, her eyes landing on Randy with laser precision. The expression on her face stopped him in his tracks. He wasn't actually doing anything wrong—he had a reason to be on her property, yet seeing her reaction to his presence, he felt like a criminal caught in some terrible act.
“I’m sorry,” she said, narrowing her admittedly lovely blue eyes at him with obvious mistrust. “Who are you? And why exactly are you hanging around my front porch?”
“I’m not,” he answered quickly, mortified when his voice cracked on the last word. “I mean, I’m here on business.”
“Business?” she repeated, her skepticism growing more acute. “What kind of business? If you’re here trying to sell something—”
"No," he interrupted, his eyebrows rising in surprise. "I'm not a salesman. Somebody here called the vet’s office to schedule a visit. I was under the impression that you had a horse that needed seeing to, but if I'm mistaken, I'll gladly be on my way."
“No,” she sighed, her shoulders slumping as she ran her hand through her hair distractedly. “I’m sorry, I forgot you were coming today. I’ve got a lot going on right now with all this.”
She made a general gesture at the house and surrounding land as she spoke, and it was all Randy could do to hold back a bark of disbelieving laughter at what could easily win the title of understatement of the year. Part of him wanted to ask what she had been expecting when she’d decided to purchase a strawberry farm sight unseen. The gossip around town was that the woman was from San Francisco, that she'd never set foot in Montana in her life before scooping up the Fincher farm. If she'd known anything about buying and selling land, or better yet about farms, she would have known the price she’d paid for the place fell squarely in the category of “too good to be true.”
It looked to Randy like she'd plunged headfirst into a conundrum she had no idea how to get herself back out of again. She already had more on her plate than she could rightly manage, and now here he was, about as far from wanting to be involved as a man could get.
"Maybe you can show me to the barn?" he said, careful to keep his voice casual. "I can help you get one thing checked off your to-do list, at least."
“Of course,” she said, starting down the porch steps without further hesitation. “You probably already know where it is if you’re from around here, though. Seems like the people in Winding Creek know everything there is to know about anything around here.”
Randy thought he heard a trace of resentment there, and although he had no interest in getting involved in that, either, he couldn't say he exactly blamed her. People in small towns like Winding Creek could be brutal, especially when an outsider was involved. The townspeople would likely still be referring to this woman as the crazy strawberry lady ten years from now. Assuming she lasted that long.
“I can surely see how it might feel that way, ma’am,” he said, glancing behind him as he walked to meet her. Both chubby little blond children were following at his heels, their eyes wide and full of expectation.
"Ugh, let's not do that, okay?" the woman said, fixing him with an expression of pure disgust as he reached her. "People have never referred to me as ma'am before, and I'm not keen on starting now. My name is Heather. Heather Browning."
"All right then, Heather, good to meet you.” He held out his hand. “My name is Randy McCall. My family has a ranch on the outskirts of town," he added with his politest smile, trying to remain friendly in the face of her terse introduction.
She missed the smile, and the extended hand, her gaze fixed firmly on the barn. “It’s this way,” she said, all business.
He withdrew his hand and casually slipped it into his jacket pocket. Honestly, that was probably for the best. Randy would have to be dead not to notice how good-looking Heather Browning was, even as a city girl playing country. Her hair was just as blonde as her children’s, hanging in loose curls halfway down her back. She wore a white tank and a pair of jeans that must have been made explicitly for her, and peeking out at the bottom, he saw a shiny new pair of cowboy boots. The look was surprisingly natural on her, and Randy was pretty sure that if he hadn't known something of her background, he would have thought she was exactly where she belonged.
As he fell into step beside her, she said, “Now, in terms of the horse, I have no idea what’s going on there.”
“What’s his name?” Randy asked, grateful for the shift from the awkward attempt at pleasantries.
“His name?” she repeated blankly. “Whose name?”
“Your horse,” Randy said in exasperation. He might sympathize with her being in over her head, but he drew the line when it came to her animals’ well-being.
His love for animals, especially horses, went back about as far as he could remember. His late grandfather had instilled it in him and both of his brothers. The desire to care for every animal he came across had started when he was seven—his horse, Rascal, had died unexpectedly. The gelding had been acting off, and instead of following his grandfather’s orders to keep watch, he had chosen to goof around with his friends. When he'd returned, Rascal was gone. Randy's grandfather hadn't said a word, but his reproachful look was burned into Randy's brain, still haunting him almost twenty years later. He’d developed a strict intolerance for others’ indifference to the plight of the animals around them. Heather’s current attitude was dangerously close to setting Randy off.
"Oh, God, of course," she said, her tone falling between apologetic and defensive. "Like I said, a lot’s going on here at the moment. The horse's name is Honey. I'm thrilled to have her, but I honestly don't know the first thing about taking care of a horse.” She gave a self-deprecating chuckle and shook her head. “I was obsessed with horses as a little girl—read every book about horses I could get my hands on—and I want to do the right thing for my animals. It’s just turning out to be harder than I expected."
“It’s fine, Heather,” he said with a twinge of guilt over his assumptions. “That’s what I’m here for.”
She nodded, tugging on one of her curls and chewing on her bottom lip. As they reached the barn door, she stepped back, allowing him to take the lead.
That was fine by him because if there was any place where he was comfortable, this was it, and he didn’t need to be distracted by a beautiful woman. He shifted his bag to the crook of his arm and hurried toward the only stall holding a horse. Even if the whole place had been full, he would have known where Honey was. He had heard her whickers as he’d stepped through the doorway, and a fine head thrust over the half door of the stall was nodding up and down at him.
“Hold on, sugar,” he said soothingly. “We’re going to get you all fixed up.”
To start, he looked the poor, distressed beast in the eyes, willing her to sense his calm and adopt it for her own. When he had her as settled as he thought she was going to get, he gave her a quick once-over, then bent closer. When he looked up again, he saw Heather watching him closely and caught her in the act of compulsively biting a fingernail.
“What is it?” she asked anxiously. “Is she going to be okay?”
“She’s going to be just fine,” he said reassuringly, running a careful hand over the swelling he’d found to check for heat. No signs of infection or break in the skin, which was good news. “Looks like s
he bunged up her leg. I’ll give you a salve to rub in, and you’re going to need to ice it daily for the next couple of days, hand-walk her a few times every day, and no free run for her until the week is up.”
“Okay,” she said hesitantly. “I can manage that.”
“Nothing to be nervous about,” he said as he straightened and moved out of the stall. “As long as you do those things, Honey is going to be just fine.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” she said with a long exhalation.
“Good,” he said with a smile. “I’m glad to hear it. Now, do you happen to have a toolkit handy?”
“A toolkit?” she asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “Um, why would you need a toolkit if she hurt her leg?”
“It’s not for Honey,” he said with a smile. “It’s for the latch on her stall. I noticed it’s loose, and that’s not going to do her any good if we’re trying to keep her safe and quiet.”
"But it's not your job to fix the place up," she said, crossing her arms across her chest. "I didn’t call the vet’s office for that, and I'm sure you don't need to be spending your time playing handyman. It's kind of you, but—"
"No," he interrupted, keeping his voice professional but firm. "I'm honestly not trying to give you anything.” He made eye contact, willing her to maintain it. He wanted to be sure that she heard what he saying. “I’m always looking out for the best interests of my patients, and in this case, that means making sure Honey doesn't get any ideas of escaping into her head. “ He looked at Heather pointedly, his jaw clenching ever so slightly. Normally, he was pretty darn good at keeping what he was really thinking and feeling hidden behind a smile. He didn’t understand why it was so difficult now. “It won't take long. Just need a screwdriver, really."