Redeeming the Rancher

by Deb Kastner

  At the beginning of the novel, Griff has been hurt by a woman and consequently believes all women are not to be trusted. Have you ever been hurt by someone and struggled not to make generalizations based on your experience?

  Why does Griff want to raise horses? Do you think he truly understands his reasons at the beginning of the story?

  Alexis tends to put off thinking about her problems, rather than dwelling on them. Is this healthy? How do you address the anxieties in your life?

  Why do you think Griff bonded with Devon?

  Alexis has a cup-half-full—even when it’s tipped over!—outlook on life. Griff sees the bad before the good. Which character is more like you?

  Why did Vivian really send Griff to Serendipity? As a lark or for her own selfish gain? Can/Did God use her actions for good despite her mistakes?

  With which character did you most relate? Why?

  Vivian loves celebrating her birthday, whereas Alexis would rather avoid it. Which camp do you fall in and why?

  Jo Spencer is affectionately known as the town’s second mother. Do you have someone in your life that supports you spiritually and emotionally?

  What are the major themes of this novel? What is the take-away value for your life?

  Griff had never experienced small-town living before. How is Serendipity different from a larger town?

  At the beginning of the novel, Griff comes into Serendipity looking for solitude and anonymity. What does he find instead?

  Serendipity has a strong sense of community. There are many types of communities. Name some communities you are involved in.

  At the end of the novel, Alexis tells Griff that God worked through him to solve Devon’s problem—and hers. Why do you think Griff had a hard time believing this could be so?

  Mother Teresa is quoted as saying, “If you can’t feed a hundred people, feed just one.” Alexis lived her life this way in serving the troubled teens. Who in your life can you feed with God’s love?

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired story.

  You believe hearts can heal. Love Inspired stories show that faith, forgiveness and hope have the power to lift spirits and change lives—always.

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  Chapter One

  Curt Graham pulled Old Green up to the curb in front of the Sweetheart Inn, cut the engine and climbed out of the pickup. He breathed deep, enjoying the familiar salty tang in the ocean air. Given he’d left Moonlight Cove in disgrace ten years ago, it was hard to believe he was back where he’d grown up. Hopefully for good, although he had no illusions about the difficult road he’d chosen by returning.

  He paused for a moment and looked up at the puffy clouds scudding across the late-afternoon sky.

  Please, Lord, help me to continue in my recovery by making good choices, and give me the strength to face the many mistakes I made in the past.

  He stepped forward and opened the iron gate guarding the front yard, casting his gaze over the white Victorian-style home, noting that the place was in need of a new coat of paint and fresh gingerbread window trim. But the house was beautiful, and if he remembered correctly, had been run by an old couple since long before he’d been born.

  He closed the gate and headed up the concrete pathway that led to the front steps of the Sweetheart, his gaze lingering on the bright red roses still blooming in the front yard. Summer typically came late to the Washington Coast, if at all, really, and many flowers were still in bloom, even in mid-September.

  As he went up the wooden stairs, he saw that a wide front porch wrapped around the front of the house and a gliding rocker sat at an angle in one corner, flanked by two padded outdoor chairs. Red flowers in pots sat clustered by the painted railing. Looked like a good place to relax, although with the temperatures dropping as summer gave way to fall, hanging out on the porch in the evening would be mighty chilly very soon.

  Just as Curt hit the top of the stairs, the wide wooden front door flew open and a dark-haired boy of about six, maybe seven, blasted out, full speed ahead. Luckily he saw Curt and deftly dodged him before he trucked down the stairs without missing a step.

  A feminine voice rang out from the house. “Sam Waters, come back here this instant!”

  Giggling, the boy kept going when he reached the bottom of the stairs and ran around the front corner of the house.

  Curt paused by the porch railing and debated going after the kid, but before he could get in gear to do so, the front door banged open again and a pretty young woman with curly red hair came barreling out.

  She put on the brakes when she saw Curt, windmilling her arms, and barely managing to stop before she ran fully into him.

  “Oh. Sorry. Um…” She cast her gaze around, then looked at him with flashing green eyes. “Did you see where he went?”

  “Around the corner,” Curt said, pointing in the direction the kid had gone.

  “Okay, thanks,” she said, bestowing him a crooked smile. “I’ll be right back.”

  He watched her go, admiring her slender curves as she quickly descended the stairs and took off in the direction Sam had gone.

  “Sam, don’t do this again,” she called, her voice ringing with frustration. “Remember we talked about this after yesterday’s incident? You promised you wouldn’t misbehave today.”

  Curt stood by the railing, listening, then slowly went down the stairs, curious about what was going on with the boy and the attractive young woman.

  Just as he reached the grass, she screamed, “Don’t you dare!”

  That sounded serious. His protective instincts—and curiosity—surging, Curt took off, rounded the corner of the house and ran into the backyard.

  His gaze zeroed in on them, facing off in the far back corner. Sam held the end of a nozzled garden hose in one hand and was pointing the “weapon” toward the young woman, who had one hand out as she inched closer to Sam in a half crouch.

  “I mean it, Sam….” she said.

  Sam’s face was lit by a mischievous smile that, in Curt’s opinion as a formerly ill-behaved boy, didn’t bode well for her. Nope.

  Figuring he could diffuse the situation—somehow—Curt kept moving toward the dueling duo, noting as he did that Sam wasn’t fazed in the least, and was moving forward, hose held out in front of him.

  Curt turned his attention to her again. She shook a rigid finger at Sam. “Do. Not. Spray. Me. With. That. Hose.”

  “Hey, bud,” Curt shouted, waving his arms. “Put down the hose, okay?”

  Curt drew alongside the woman. She threw him a grateful look.

  “Who’re you?” Sam called, one eyebrow raised.

  “I’m Curt Graham.”

  The boy shrugged as if to say, “Big deal, your name means nothing to me.”

  “I’m checking in here,” Curt said by way of an explanation. Maybe he could distract the boy by talking long enough to nab him.

  The woman threw him an apologetic look. “Jumping right into the fun stuff, huh?”

  “Right.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Curt saw Sam moving closer, presumably to strike, up close and personal. Curt turned to face the threat; he could take this kid, no problem. Working out was part of his recovery, so he was fitter than he’d ever been, right? This little kid was no match for him.

  Curt held up his hands. “Sam—”

  Before he could get any more words out, Sam raised the hose and pointed it directly at the woman’
s face. Curt was sure he saw the kid’s finger tighten on the nozzle trigger.

  Instinctively Curt pushed the woman behind him and then he rushed Sam, hoping to catch him and wrest the hose away before he could inflict any liquid damage. Only to be met with an icy-cold blast of hose water right in the kisser.

  * * *

  Jenna Flaherty widened her eyes and squawked as her handsome, dark-haired new guest took a hard spray of water intended for her directly in the face. But the torrent of water didn’t seem to deter Mr. Graham. He just kept moving toward Sam, his arms in front of him, trying to dodge the spray.

  Sam shrieked and kept backing up, wildly shooting water as he went, holding the hose with both hands.

  She watched in an odd kind of fascination as her rescuer determinedly picked up the pace, putting his long legs to work. Sam’s eyes widened and his feet got tangled up in each other, and he stumbled and lost ground, fast. But his finger somehow kept pressing the nozzle trigger and the water kept pummeling Mr. Graham. Jenna had no idea how he wasn’t inhaling oodles of water.

  With a growl, Mr. Graham lunged at Sam, who dropped the hose as he tried, too late, to escape the much larger, stronger man. Mr. Graham managed to catch Sam around the waist and haul him up against his wide chest.

  Sam flailed his legs. “Put me down!” he screamed.

  “Not happening,” Mr. Graham said, his coffee-colored eyes glinting in the sun. He shook the water out of his face as he hugged Sam against him to keep control of the squirming boy. “No way am I taking more water up my nose.”

  Mortified, Jenna ran forward. “Sam, stop this nonsense at once!”

  Sam had trouble with impulse control—a hallmark symptom of his ADHD—so his behavior didn’t surprise her. Especially since she’d been his after-school day-care provider for almost a year, and was well aware of the challenges Sam faced, what with his dad in prison and his mom juggling two jobs to make ends meet.

  But the last thing she needed was to lose a client because of Sam’s behavior. Business was down at the Sweetheart, and with her bank account depleted by the costly repairs Grams had put off and that were now Jenna’s responsibility, she needed every penny of income she could get just to keep the place afloat.

  Mr. Graham looked at her over Sam’s head, then jerked his chin toward the hose. “You might want to get that thing while you can.”

  “Oh, yeah.” She went over to the hose bib and turned the water off at the source. Picking up the nozzle, she dragged the hose over and put it under a large rhododendron bush, where Sam would have a harder time getting to it.

  “Let me go,” Sam whined, trying in vain to pry Mr. Graham’s well-muscled arm loose from its seemingly iron grip around Sam’s waist.

  Setting her jaw, she headed in their direction. As she neared, she couldn’t help noticing that being blasted by a torrent of water hadn’t detracted from Mr. Graham’s good looks one bit. His short dark hair stood on end, but with his tall build, lean but muscular physique and matching dark eyes, he was one good-looking guy, indeed.

  She shoved that rogue thought aside, her ire at Sam rising again. But she tamped it down, reminding herself that she needed to be firm yet loving with the boy. Sam was going through a rough time and needed levelheaded discipline like nobody’s business.

  “Mr. Graham will put you down as soon as you calm yourself, Sammy.” She looked at Mr. Graham, nodding slightly. “Right?”

  He nodded back, clearly getting her drift. “Right. But no more funny stuff, bud. This kind of behavior isn’t cool.”

  Sam quit squirming and went still in Mr. Graham’s arms. “Yeah, I guess.”

  Mr. Graham lowered him to the ground, but kept his hands on the boy’s narrow shoulders while he leaned sideways to look him in the eye. “I want a promise that you’re going to behave.”

  “All right, I promise,” Sam grudgingly said.

  “Good deal.” Mr. Graham let go of Sam’s shoulders and stepped back as he wiped the water from his face, though he’d probably have to change clothes, Jenna thought. His short-sleeved light blue polo shirt and jeans were soaked.

  Sam skittered sideways, out of the man’s reach, but otherwise stayed put and kept his promise. For now. She knew better than anyone that Sam had a hard time staying out of trouble.

  Relieved that the garden hose crisis had passed, Jenna stepped forward and extended her hand to Mr. Graham. “Belatedly, I’m Jenna Flaherty, owner of the Sweetheart Inn.”

  He wiped his hand on his jeans and held it out, engulfing her hand in his large grip. “Yes, we talked last week. Nice to meet you. As I said before, I’m Curt Graham.”

  “I recognize you,” she said, details coming together in her mind.

  He cocked his head to the side. “Really?”

  “Yes, you used to live in Moonlight Cove, right? I spent summers here at the Sweetheart with my grandmother and grandfather, Jean and Silas Marton.” Every teenage girl in town had been aware of the Graham brothers. Though she was a few years younger than Curt, she’d eventually been old enough to appreciate him when she’d seen him in town during the summer. Of course, she’d been much too shy and awkward to ever speak to him.

  “I remember your grandparents,” Curt said, nodding slowly. “Your grandpa drove a big black Caddy, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, he did. He loved that car.” It had just about killed Jenna to have to sell it to a collector a year ago to pay for a new roof for the inn.

  “They ran this place for years, didn’t they?”

  She nodded. “They started it back in the sixties.” They’d put years of hard work and sweat into running the inn. Her chest clutched a bit. “My grandpa died three years ago, and I moved down here to help Grandma with the place.” A massive heart attack had killed Gramps instantly. Grams had never really been the same—losing her partner after so many idyllic years of marriage had devastated her.

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. How’s your grandma doing?”

  “Not so well.” Jenna sighed shakily. “She has some pretty severe dementia, and I had to move her into a nursing home three months ago.” The horrific disease had robbed Grams of the ability to care for herself, and with the inn to run, Jenna had had no choice but to move her to a skilled-care facility.

  “Oh, that’s rough,” Curt said, his eyes soft. “My grandpa died of complications from Alzheimer’s.”

  “So you know how difficult it is.” Putting her grandma in a home had been the hardest thing Jenna had ever had to do. “But she’s happy there, and gets excellent care. I visit every Sunday.” Thankfully, due to Gramps’s careful investing, Grams had the money to pay for her care. Unfortunately, she hadn’t had the head or the heart for maintaining the inn in the past few years, so that responsibility had fallen to Jenna when Grams had signed over the deed to the inn a little over a year ago.

  “I’m sure you did the right thing.”

  “Thanks.” Jenna wasn’t so sure, but she was trying to deal with all that had happened, and was determined to make a success of the Sweetheart.

  Shifting gears, she moved her gaze to Sam, who stood nearby, fidgeting. She gave him a stern look. “Sam, is there something you need to do?”

  Sam blinked, looked around, then glanced down at his wet T-shirt. “Change clothes?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “How about you apologize to Mr. Graham?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Sam hunched his shoulders and looked at the grass at Curt’s feet. “Sorry I got you wet.”

  “You need to look him in the eye when you apologize,” she reminded Sam. She did her best to instill manners and respect in Sam.

  He huffed but complied, looking up—way up—at Curt. “I’m sorry I got you wet.”

  “Mr. Graham,” Jenna reminded.

  “Who else would I be talking to?” Sam said.


  Jenna held on to her patience with a thin thread. “No, you need to say, ‘I’m sorry I got you wet, Mr. Graham.’”

  Sam rolled his eyes, then stopped himself and looked at Curt again, a smidgen of contrition shining through. “I’m sorry I got you wet, Mr. Graham.”

  Curt smoothed his damp hair back. “Well, I was a boy your age once, so I know all about being wild.” He smiled at Sam. “And a little water never hurt anyone. But you need to listen to your mom when she talks to you, okay?”

  Sam scrunched his face up. “She’s not my mom.”

  Jenna stepped forward. “I take care of Sam after school.”

  “Ah, I see,” Curt said.

  “Why don’t we go inside, and you two can change and we can get you checked in, Mr. Graham.”

  “Call me Curt.”

  “Okay.” She gestured to the house. “If you guys want a snack, you can have a slice of— Oh, no! My pies!”

  She took off at a run, went up the back stairs and flung open the screen door that led to the kitchen. The second she entered the house, a burning smell drifted her way.

  She raced across the kitchen, noting that the oven timer had gone off while she was out on garden hose patrol. Praying she could salvage the desserts, she grabbed an oven mitt off the counter and yanked the oven open. Hot, acrid smoke wafted out.

  With a muttered exclamation, she pulled out the rack. The trio of pies sat on the cookie sheet she’d baked them on, only they looked more like blackened lumps of dough than anything remotely edible. She should have known better than to leave the ancient oven unmonitored. The appliance was touchy about maintaining an even temperature, and until she could afford to replace it with a newer, more reliable model, she had to keep a close eye on everything she baked. And a new-model oven would come after a new porch, fresh exterior paint and a new furnace. The list was endless. The money was not.

  Sighing, she set the cookie sheet on the stove. She regarded the ruined pastry, shaking her head. She’d followed Grams’s dog-eared recipe to a T, and had wanted these to be as sigh-worthy as Grams’s pies had always been. Instead, Jenna had ended up with ugly blobs of black dough that were far from the ideal she wanted to uphold.