Hidden in a Heartbeat (A Place Called Home, Book 3)

by Patricia McLinn

  There were too many unknowns. That’s what had driven her to try to find the man who’d fathered her, despite the risk.

  A single mention, with no hint of this ranch’s whereabouts or the relationship between the writer and these Suslands – except it didn’t sound like he expected anything from them. A letter in hurried handwriting from some three decades ago, with a scrawled signature that might be Jack and had no last name. One of four letters that had somehow evaded her grandmother’s purge.

  It had taken years of subtle, unobtrusive searching to find even this. And more than six months to turn the single clue into the reality of being in Far Hills, near the ranch owned by the Susland family. She hadn’t gotten this far because she’d let lack of progress or even outright setbacks stop her.

  So, Mr. Luke Chandler thought he was a big, bad immovable object? Hah! She’d been dealing with Antonia Folsom Dahlgren all her life, and she’d developed definite skills for dealing with immovable objects.

  She’d simply adapt them and apply them to a Wyoming ranch foreman instead of a Delaware matriarch.

  She needed to get onto Far Hills Ranch for considerably more than an afternoon of standing in a field watching a tractor go round and round, and Marti Susland had made it quite clear that the route onto Far Hills Ranch was through Luke Chandler.

  * * * *

  Long after dark, Luke walked in the kitchen door of the Far Hills home ranch without knocking.

  “Luke!” Five-year-old Emily squealed and launched herself at him, not letting her nightgown hinder her leap. He caught her with the ease of practice, swung her up in his arms and kissed her cheek. At the same time he directed a scowl at her mother.

  “Marti, what the hell were you thinking sending that computer woman out to the Three Coyote Creek field while I was haying?”

  “What do you mean, Luke? You can’t be complaining about her interrupting your work, because I drove by when Emily and I came back from dinner at Kendra and Daniel’s, and the haying was all done.”

  “No thanks to having some city woman standing there like a vulture while I finished.”

  “You made her wait? Oh, Luke, why didn’t you – ”

  “Because I had work. Why’d you send her? Waste of time.”

  “I thought you’d enjoy talking to her. I thought she was charming – and very attractive. Didn’t you think so?”

  “How could anyone tell in that get-up?” he grumbled.

  It was a lie. Sometimes the Wyoming wind could be a man’s best friend. It could sweep back the sides of a jacket, then mold a blouse and skirt to a female form like loving hands. Didn’t matter then that the blouse was buttoned up tight or the skirt was too long, because everything was there to see, and be appreciated.

  A hot pulse low in his body reminded him exactly what it had thought of long-legged, nicely curved Rebecca Dahlgren. Especially when her brown eyes flared hot. Sure, it had been in anger. But it didn’t take much imagining to shift that flare of heat to another source entirely, not with the wind tousling her straight, dark hair, and flushing her cheeks. Not when he’d watched her tongue sweep across wide, rich lips.

  Considering the way she hadn’t said what was on her mind even when her eyes did flare hot, she didn’t match his usual taste for women who were as straightforward as he was. Although there was something a man could get to like about the feeling that there was a lot going on behind those brown eyes...

  He caught Marti’s speculative look, and clamped down on his thoughts. Narrowing his eyes at her, he demanded, “What are you up to, Marti?”

  “Up to,” repeated Emily, trying to imitate his intonation in her piping voice.

  “Is that any way to talk to your employer?”

  “Yes, when she’s got a head full of foolish notions and schemes to match.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Thinking you have to make amends for what some legend says happened a century ago, Marti.” She didn’t meet his eyes, and he added with stronger emphasis, “Ever since you researched Far Hills history for that Banner supplement, you’ve been thinking only you alone could make things right.”

  “Not alone,” she said softly.

  He frowned. “You mean because of how things have worked out for Kendra and Ellyn?”

  Marti had been in high clover the past year with first her niece Kendra marrying Daniel Delligatti, then her nephew Grif returning home and making a family with Ellyn Sinclair and her two kids. Luke had his private suspicions that Marti had done a little pushing to get each of those couples over certain hurdles on the way to the altar, but she wasn’t talking.

  And he wasn’t asking. She had a burr under her saddle about that crazy legend from a hundred years ago about a Susland doing people wrong. He was just grateful he didn’t have a drop of Susland blood, so she wouldn’t start meddling in his love life. Bad enough she was trying to give him a share of the ranch, as if he were a Susland. Actually being one would open a whole other can of worms.

  As it was, Marti wouldn’t listen when he said he liked being the foreman just fine. That he didn’t want to be tied down to one place the way he’d be with an owner’s share.

  “Of course, that’s what I mean.” Marti’s very eagerness made him suspicious. “Now Kendra and Daniel are looking out for each other, and Ellyn and Grif are so happy. No one could miss thinking that all is right with the world after seeing them work things out the way they have.”

  Yeah, someone could – him.

  “That legend’s damned nonsense, Marti.” Rebecca Dahlgren had used a similar phrase this afternoon when he’d pulled out the curse to try to scare her off. Not that it had worked.

  “Damned nonsense,” echoed the little girl still in his arms.

  “Emily, that’s not nice language,” Marti reminded automatically.

  “Luke said – ”

  “I know, but Luke doesn’t always use nice language. Now, you go wash your face and brush your teeth before I tuck you into bed.”

  Luke hugged Emily before setting her on her feet, and the little girl headed off with her usual bouncing step.

  “Luke, I’ve told you, you’ve got to watch your language around Emily. She’s like a sponge.”

  He grunted an acknowledgment of the old lecture. They both knew that was no promise to change his ways.

  “Marti, what is this crock you fed that computer woman about me being the one to make the decisions?”

  “Quit calling her that computer woman – you make her sound like she’s made out of plastic and wires. Her name is Rebecca Dahlgren and she seemed very warm and human to me.”

  How warm and human would she feel pressed against –

  “Fine. It’s still a crock of – ”

  “It’s not a crock. The right computer system could help ease the strain of paperwork. I know you do some tracking on that old machine, but there are sure to be faster, more efficient programs available now. You won’t take the time to search them out, so it only makes sense to bring someone like Rebecca here.”

  “Why me?”

  “I would think that would be obvious.” Marti opened the dishwasher and started rearranging glasses on the top rack as if it needed advanced engineering to fit in Emily’s plastic cup when the thing was only half full. “You’re the one who does that work. It’s only logical that you be involved with selecting and implementing – ”

  He swore. “Now you sound like the computer lady. And I don’t buy it. Is this part of that hare-brained scheme of yours to give me a share of Far Hills, Marti? I’ve told you, I don’t want – ” He broke off as his gaze rested on a name and phone number scrawled on the pad by the telephone. When he looked at Marti, she was watching him. “You talked to that lawyer? Even after what I said last night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Marti, dammit, if you won’t listen to me, how about thinking about your family. How would they feel about someone who’s not a Susland having a share?”

  “They know it�
��s the share for the person who’s running Far Hills, and that’s you. And they know you love Far Hills.”

  “I told you, I don’t want to be tied down – ”

  “Nonsense. You’ll never leave.”

  Before he could respond to that flat contradiction of what he’d told her all along, she was continuing.

  “Besides, Luke,” she said with great dignity, “not everything I’d talk to a lawyer about would have to do with giving you a piece of Far Hills Ranch.”

  “No?” He didn’t entirely believe it, since she was as hard-headed about some things as she was soft-hearted about others. “So what did you talk to him about?”

  “Her. I keep telling you the lawyer is a woman. You know women can be lawyers or doctors or ranch foremen or computer consultants like – ”

  “Or ranch owners if they hold onto their shares.” Before she could respond, he held up his hands in surrender. “All right, all right. Her – the lawyer’s a her. What did she say?”

  Marti pulled out a chair. “Sit down, Luke. I’ll pour you a cup of coffee. Then I need to tuck in Emily and make a quick phone call. After that, we have to talk.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  If Rebecca had been able to move, she would definitely have made a note to herself to avoid this situation in the future. At all costs. Then again, if she could move, she wouldn’t be rooted to the spot, staring at Luke Chandler’s rear end.

  And in one of those cycles of the vicious kind, that sight was what kept her motionless.

  After receiving the phone call from Marti Susland last night, Rebecca had felt both relieved and fortified.

  She’d gotten off to a bad start, letting her emotions lead her into saying things her head should have vetoed. Do not indulge your emotions, Rebecca, or you will repeat your mother’s failures. Now she had a second chance. This time she wouldn’t fail.

  First thing this morning she’d put on sturdy woolen pants, layered two sweaters under her light jacket and laced up her hiking boots. She’d headed back to Far Hills Ranch, prepared to take on Luke Chandler once more.

  There had been no response at the tidy frame building Marti Susland had described as the foreman’s cottage.

  Then she’d heard a sound from beyond the barn. She’d followed the mechanical clangs down a slope to a large metal shed with its double doors wide open, revealing a truck with its hood up, yawning toward her. Luke Chandler appeared out of the dimness of the shed beyond the truck, holding something dirty-looking in one hand and using the other hand to stuff a red rag partway into his back pocket.

  He wore another pair of disreputable jeans – or perhaps the same pair – a faded shirt that might have started as green, a battered leather vest and the same hat as yesterday.

  She opened her mouth to hail him, since he clearly had not spotted her, but never got the words out.

  He stepped up on the front bumper with easy grace, spread his feet wide, apparently for balance, and bent from the waist to reach deep into the center back of the engine area.

  Rebecca Dahlgren gawked.

  The rag fluttered like an invitation to a bull that needed no encouragement. The old denim, faded to a color close to blue smoke except for a darker line at the seam that emphasized its path, stretched taut over his ... Her mind balked at its first word choice, and shifted to one less earthy. His posterior.

  Outlined by the stretched-tight fabric, the muscles of his thighs worked to hold his position as he – Well, she didn’t know what he was doing. It appeared to require tugging and straining that made him move in a way that one could almost think resembled ...

  Rebecca closed her mouth and swallowed.

  Her palm and fingertips tingled, as if they felt the softness of the worn fabric over the firmness beneath it ... Except she’d never experienced anything like that, like this – like him – in her entire, proper, Dahlgren life.

  A curse erupted from under the hood, then came a string of equally objectionable words, spoken in an almost crooning voice that urged the piece of deleted-deleted to just deleted get in the deleted deleted deleted deleted where it belonged.

  A new flexing and shifting of the muscles displayed before her riveted Rebecca’s already elevated attention. Then came a grunt of satisfaction that warned her that this new movement was in preparation for straightening and, no doubt, turning around and, equally no doubt, drawing the conclusion that she’d been gaping at him. In other words, he’d catch her.

  She dropped her head and shuffled a pair of minuscule steps forward as if she’d just arrived.

  Raising her head, her gaze crashed into Luke Chandler’s as he stepped down from the bumper, then turned to lean against the truck, one booted foot resting on the bumper, wiping his hands on the red rag. Was that suspicion in his eyes, or the reflection of her guilt?

  “Oh!” she managed with a credible start. “Good morning, Mr. Chandler.”

  He frowned, but at least he didn’t say anything.

  “You might not remember – I’m Rebecca Dahlgren. We spoke yesterday and – ”

  “I remember.”

  “Yes, well, Ms. Susland called me last night and suggested I come back this morning. I’m not – I mean, I do have an invitation – I’m not trespassing.”

  Unhurried, he continued wiping his hands on the rag. “I’d probably have given you a chance to explain before I shot you.”

  The slow deep drawl was dry as tinder. But she felt her face relax into a smile even before her mind registered the shift in the atmosphere between them.

  “I wasn’t so sure after last night. I’m sorry if I – ”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I truly didn’t mean – ”

  “I said it was okay.”

  “I don’t want you to think that I – ”

  “Why should you care what I think?”

  Those words carried an edge that she could almost imagine was what she’d heard referred to as sexual challenge. She answered its broader question.

  “I would hope that everyone I encounter would think well of me.” Even to her ears that sounded priggish.

  “Not possible.”

  “I disagree. If one behaves with courtesy and civility, it’s entirely possible – ”

  “You come here this morning to argue with me?” He glanced up from where he’d wrapped the red rag around his left hand, apparently as a convenient place to store it. “You think that’s going to make me think better of you?”

  “Oh. No. I’m sorry, I didn’t – ”

  “Actually, it might,” he said with that same dry drawl. And then he grinned.

  Rebecca would have liked to have denied her response to Luke Chandler, but there was no denying facts. And the facts were that when he grinned, the tips of her breasts tightened into sensitized buds that suddenly felt the brush of her bra’s fabric like a lover’s touch. Her breathing quickened. And so did her blood.

  “I got my doubts you set out to argue with me. Not saying it wouldn’t happen anyway, like some force of nature, but I don’t see you planning it. So, if you’re here to apologize, you’ve done that, and you and I can both be on our way.”

  She heard the words, understood them, but as if they came from far away.

  “Ms. Dahlgren?”

  “Wha – Oh.” She blinked. Talk about indulging emotions... Remember why you’re here, Rebecca! “I am sorry. I didn’t – ”

  “Stop saying that.” This time there was no drawl, no grin and she felt absolutely no inclination to smile.

  “What?”

  “Every other word’s you’re sorry. Stop it.”

  “I’m sor – ” She abruptly swallowed her automatic response.

  Grandmother had always insisted Rebecca own up to failings, immediately and succinctly. She had a lot of failings by Antonia Dahlgren’s standards, so she’d spent a lot of time owning up – at least to the ones she had any control over – with the all-purpose “I’m sorry.” She hardly noticed the words anymore.

  He h
ad a point. Words were too powerful to become mere habit. Especially since she wasn’t at all certain she’d meant the words half the time she’d used them this morning.

  “I’ll try,” she promised, then clarified, “To quit.”

  For an instant she thought she detected an arrested expression in his eyes. Then he dipped his head in acceptance, cutting off her view. No doubt she’d imagined it, anyhow. Why would her promise to try to quit a verbal habit have any impact on him?

  “So, why’re you here?”

  “For a tour.”

  “Tour?”

  “Ms. Susland said on the phone last night that I really should see the ranch – walk the land, I believe she called it.”

  His brows slammed down in a frown. “She did, did she?”

  She supposed most people would find him fierce. Neither his face nor body gave any hint of softness. Both his expression and stance declared there would be no budging this man. Those people, however, hadn’t been raised by Antonia Dahlgren.

  “She did. If you doubt my account, perhaps you should talk to her, and – ”

  “Don’t get your feathers ruffled. I’m not calling you a bald-faced liar.”

  Rebecca found the latter reassurance scant praise and the admonition insulting, since she’d been practically dripping reasonable calm.

  “I am not getting – ”

  “It’s just what she would say. Don’t know what’s gotten into her lately, with this crazy idea about – ” He snapped his jaw shut as if he’d just remembered he wasn’t muttering to himself, then shot her an accusatory glance as if it were her fault. “No time today. Some other time.”

  Oh, no, he wasn’t going to get off that vaguely. “When?”

  “Hard to say. Ranching doesn’t stick to schedules.”

  “Quit being such a pain, Luke.”

  Marti Susland’s voice from the open doorway made them both turn in surprise. Another woman was with her, taller and grayer than Marti, with eyes equally intelligent.