by Maddie James
Parker
The Long Road Home
Maddie James
The Montana McKennas, Book Three
Copyright © 2015, James, Maddie
Parker: The Long Road Home
Media > Books > Fiction > Romance Novels
Keywords: romance, contemporary, western romance, romantic heroes, cowboy, second chance, reunion romance, baby
Digital ISBN: 9781622374328
Digital release: July 2015
Editor, Wendy Williams
Cover Design by Calliope-Design.com
Stock art photos by thinkstockphotos.com
All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in whole or part, by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.
This edition is published by agreement with Turquoise Morning Press, a division of Turquoise Morning, LLC, PO Box 43958, Louisville, KY 40253-0958.
PARKER: THE LONG ROAD HOME
People die, people change, and sometimes both happen and people fall in love.
When Parker McKenna’s father dies, he expects life on the ranch to change—whether he wants it to or not. Parker is unsure how much his stepmother Liz has influenced his father’s final wishes. Although Liz has been a part of his life for years, he knows her goals for the ranch are different from his. All Parker wants to do is continue his way of life—running the working Montana cattle ranch until the day he dies, just like his father.
What Parker doesn’t expect is for Reba Morris to walk into his life the day of the funeral.
Having recently relocated to Montana, and living in a small cabin near the McKenna Ranch, Reba decides to do the neighborly thing and help at Parker’s house when everyone gathers after the funeral. With her late husband’s passing several months ago on her mind, she knows how difficult it can be handling the small things, so she steps up to the plate. What Reba doesn’t expect is for Parker McKenna to knock her socks off with his drop-dead gorgeous, cowboy goodness. After all, she is a recent widow and shouldn’t be thinking about things like how sexy he looks in his Wranglers. Right?
Prologue
Friday, June 5
Watching them put his father in the ground was the hardest thing James Parker McKenna had ever done. Against the advice of everyone who mattered to him, he stayed until the last shovel of dirt was in place and his father was nothing but a heavy hole in his heart.
No. He was a lot more than that. He was the leader of their family, and Parker would be damned if he’d let anyone forget that.
Now what? What happens now?
Parker stood fast against a brisk summer breeze coming down from the north. Looked like a storm on the horizon. “You keep living,” his dad would have said. “You get up every day, put your boots on, and you go to work.”
Work is better therapy than any goddamned shrink, James McKenna always said.
“And that is what I’m going to do. Work.”
He turned, wincing at the ache in his gut. His father was gone, and that meant he had to pick up the reins. He was the oldest. The senior member of the family now at thirty-five. And he’d keep running McKenna Ranch just like his father had run it for the past forty-five years.
It was his legacy. His duty and honor.
Thank God he had Callie and Murphy at his side.
He stopped dead in his tracks as he reached the side of his truck. There was only one thing wrong with that line of thinking, and he knew it.
Knew it better than he knew the back of his hand.
Liz.
Chapter One
Late Friday afternoon, after the funeral
As he rounded the last curve toward home, Parker observed the string of traffic lining his parking area and circling around the barn. Turning onto the dirt road leading up to the house, he attempted to settle the quiver of anticipation in his gut. He wasn’t looking forward to dealing with people right now, even though they came to pay their respects to his father. Most everyone in the surrounding area, plus those they knew real well from Livingston, would be waiting for him to make an appearance.
Why had he insisted this gathering be at his house and not Liz’s? Well, he’d had his reasons, and he didn’t want to think of those at this moment.
Parker was not one for crowds, especially crowds in his living room and kitchen.
He was a private man. Pretty much a loner. He didn’t like to be on display, and he never wanted to be the center of attention. That’s why ranch life suited him to a T. He could go about his business on a daily basis without seeing a soul, or only those people who really mattered. That’s why working on the dude ranch or in a hotel or in any other damn service industry would be torture for him. Not an option. Couldn’t Liz see that?
He pushed all of that aside. Not going there. Not now.
Glancing into his rearview mirror, he watched the dust trail billow up behind him. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes… This day was just too surreal.
He made his way toward the barn and pulled around behind it. He had half a notion to steal away on his horse and take an hour or two up on the mountain. Alone.
He was restless. Needed time. To think. Reflect. He wouldn’t though. The community was here. And he’d do his part.
Mercer and Callie had everything under control inside. They were in charge of the food brought in from, what seemed like, every corner of the state of Montana. The only thing to do now, except eat, was sit around and talk pleasant to the guests.
Of course, they were all coming to support the family, pay their respects. He understood that. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be ready for them to leave as soon as possible.
There was a small group on the back porch, and he nodded with minimal eye contact as he threaded his way through. Once inside the kitchen, he realized, quite unexpectedly, it was empty. He breathed a deep sigh of relief. Spotting the half-full carafe still sitting in the coffee maker, he strolled across the room, poured himself a large mug, stuck it in the microwave and nuked it for two minutes.
He waited, watching the cup turn round and round on the carousel. It was a mindless act and a welcome one. He didn’t want to think right now. Finally, the machine binged, and he retrieved his cup.
He turned to find an attractive woman standing behind the butcher-block island, tearing a head of lettuce into pieces and tossing them into a bowl. She stared back at him with the largest green eyes he’d ever seen. Was she there when he came in?
“They never bring salad,” she said.
Parker leaned into the counter and lifted the cup to his lips. Hot. “Who never brings salad?”
“People. When someone dies and people bring food, they never think about bringing salad.” He watched her reach into a grocery bag and pull out two ripe tomatoes. She rinsed them in the island sink to her left and then started chopping them up there on the counter. “I mean, they bring lasagna and meatloaf and hash brown casseroles and ham and baked beans and deserts—but they never think to bring salad.”
“Oh,” Parker said.
“That’s why I always bring salad. People need vegetables at a time like this. People don’t really think about what they are eating. Or if they are eating at all.”
“I see.” Parker was sure he had not eaten today. Not important. He brought the cup to his lips and tried the coffee again, slightly annoyed at having to make conversation, but also semi-amused at the diversion she offered. “And you are?”
“Oh! I am sorry. I should have introduced myself. You were bu
sy with the coffee when I came in. I was in the pantry.” She wiped her hands on a dishtowel, tossed a long, auburn ponytail over her shoulder, rounded the island, and thrust out her hand. “I’m Reba Morris. Reba is short for Rebekah. I bought the Crandall place over the hill. Been there about a six weeks. It’s small but it’s home. I never met James McKenna, but I’ve heard so much about him and the family, so I thought I would pay my respects, being a new neighbor, and all.”
The Crandall cabin. He’d wondered who bought it. If he’d had the money, he would have snatched up those one hundred twenty acres for himself. But times were a tough for most everyone around here, that’s why the Crandall’s were selling off their smaller parcels of land.
He took her hand. Soft. But her handshake was firm. “I’m Parker McKenna.”
Her eyes grew wide. “Oh, I am so sorry, Mr. McKenna. I didn’t mean to rattle on like that. Sometimes words just fall uncontrollably from my mouth. I’m sure this is a horrible day for you, and I am so sorry for your loss….”
“Parker. Call me Parker.”
She nodded. “Of course.”
He dropped his gaze slightly. “Thank you, ma’am, for your kind words. And thank you for the salad. I’m sure we are all going to appreciate it.”
“Ma’am?”
Hell, he offended her. “I didn’t mean…”
“Just call me Reba,” she said.
He almost chuckled. “Sure. Thank you, Reba, for…” he glanced about, “for the vegetables.”
She smiled. “I should probably get back to it. There are a lot of hungry people in there.” She cocked her head toward the living room. “If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. I hope you don’t mind if I just stand here and drink my coffee.” And watch you.
Shit. Where did that come from? And where did you come from? She was pleasant to watch. Probably his age, perhaps a little older. Thin and tall, with pretty red hair pulled back and really black eyelashes surrounding those green eyes. Why he noticed the lashes, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was the way she blinked when talking in run-on sentences.
She went back to her vegetables. “Long day?”
“You could say that. Even longer week.”
“I understand. When my…” She started chopping and assembling.
Parker wondered what she was going to say but let the unfinished sentence hang between them.
She lifted her gaze, gathered the salad bowl in her hands, and said to him, “Will you please bring the dressing?” She nodded toward a couple of bottles on the island.
Parker set his coffee cup on the butcher block and said, “Of course. Lead the way.”
****
A few hours later, Reba Morris put the last foil-wrapped casserole dish in the freezer and had Tupperwared the remaining leftovers in the refrigerator. As she wiped down the counter, she glanced at the kitchen clock. Later than I thought. It would be dark soon and high time she headed over the hill toward home.
Just as she was turning to gather her things, the two McKenna sisters pushed through the kitchen door.
“Whoa.” The blonde stopped short and glanced about the kitchen. “I was sure this place was a disaster area.”
The other sister, the one with the long brunette hair, did a double take. “Me, too. What the hell?”
Their gazes both landed on Reba. She slowed her swiping, tossed the dishrag in the sink, and then wiped her hands on her borrowed apron. “Well,” she said, approaching the two, “I’m sorry we have to meet like this, but I’m your new neighbor, Reba Morris.”
The sisters looked at each other.
“I’m Mercer,” the blonde one said and pushed out her hand.
Reba shook it and then looked to the brunette. “So you must be Callie.”
Callie dropped her head in a quick nod. “I am. And I can’t believe that you cleaned all of this up!”
Reba shrugged. “It was the least I could do. You all have enough on your hands right now. We’re neighbors, and that’s what we do. I’m happy to help.”
With that, Mercer moved to the table and sat in a chair with a huge sigh. “I could kiss you. I am so tired.”
Reba figured they both were. Smiling, she said, “Why don’t you both sit and let me tell you what I have done. Can I get you a drink?”
Callie joined Mercer at the table. They both shook their heads.
“I’ve drank so much tea this afternoon I think I could float away.” Mercer grimaced.
Reba glanced out the window and continued, “It looks like the last of the visitors are leaving and I should be too.” She stepped to the refrigerator. “There’s more iced tea in the refrigerator in the pantry. I made some fresh so it would be good through tomorrow. There were a lot of eggs in the fridge close to expiration, so I made a breakfast casserole for in the morning. Not that you needed any more food, but I hate to waste…. ” She opened the refrigerator door and pointed. “Anyway, it’s right there with the foil on top. Just bake at 375 degrees for approximately 45 minutes. I actually wrote the directions on the foil with a marker. If the cheese starts to brown too much, take it out.
“Let’s see.” She glanced up. “Someone brought a fruit tray that hasn’t been touched—I would eat that soon before it spoils. These plastic containers are full of food left from what was out this afternoon. Probably should eat that stuff soon, too. And anything that could be frozen,” she shut the refrigerator door and opened the freezer side, “I packaged up and put it here. Everything is labeled. Wow, you have food for weeks.”
She turned and faced the women, both with looks of disbelief on their faces.
“Wow,” Mercer echoed, “is right. You’re as good as Bekah from Bekah’s Cottage!”
“Ditto.” Callie blinked. “Can we keep you?”
Reba laughed. “Oh girls, you flatter me. Although I wish I was Bekah. That woman is amazing!” She turned and bit her lip, glancing about to see if there was any way to change the subject. Then curious, she turned back. “So, do you all follow her blog?”
“Oh yes. She’s so fun and practical,” Callie said. “I love her blog posts. And she does great social media work. Marketing was my major in college.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful! I follow her on Facebook and Twitter.”
Mercer added, “Reba, you are so cool. Bekah is just so appealing to everyone. So down to earth. I love her recipes. Mom and I have tried a few. Especially the Creamy Butter Crust Pound Cake recipe….”
“With all of the variations?”
“Of course!”
“Yes, that’s a favorite,” Reba added. And it truly was one of her all-time favorite cake recipes.
“Well,” Callie continued, “I’m impressed with everything you have done here today. Bekah has nothing over on you. Obviously, Parker is going to be happy as a clam.”
Bekah’s Cottage dismissed now, Reba balked at the mention of Parker. Their brief encounter earlier had left her wondering about him. A lot of people had been in and out while she organized and kept things rolling. He’d not been back in, she was pretty much certain, although a number of people had filtered in and out, looking for drinks or flatware or a napkin. At times it was a bit chaotic.
He was a handsome man. Make no mistake about that. And she’d heard he was single.
Of course, she wasn’t interested.
“Then my work here is done. I’m all about making people happy with a good meal.”
She watched the young women exchange a glance. Mercer rose and said then, “You are so wonderful to do all of this, Reba. How can we thank you?”
Grinning inwardly, Reba shook her head and rotated toward the back door, where she plucked her purse and a sweater off a hook. After laying a hand on the doorknob, she turned back to face the two with a big smile. “Just eat and enjoy. That’s thanks enough. You all have had an emotional and trying week. I’m sure you are tired as all get out. People need to eat during these times, so make sure that you do.” She opened the door and then jerked back.
“Oh, and the big salad bowl is mine. I’ll come back for it in a couple of days.”
“Never mind about that.” The male voice came from the other side of the room.
The girls turned, and Reba lifted her gaze. Parker McKenna had entered the kitchen. Larger than life, he commanded such a presence she almost gasped. He was more than handsome, strikingly so, with his short dark-brown hair, broad shoulders, and cocky cowboy stance. Mercy. And those dark, piercing eyes, and the way he used them almost as a weapon—a seductive weapon—caught her totally off guard this time, more so than earlier.
He strolled forward.
Well, hello, tall, dark and cowboy, said the wench in her head.
Stop it! ordered her inner good girl. You’ve made a promise to yourself. Remember?
Reba opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted.
“No worries about the salad bowl,” he said, “I’ll bring it by when we’re finished. That is, if it’s not an imposition.”
“Oh, I don’t mind coming by,” she told him.
“And your place is on my way into town, so it’s not a bother.”
Reba smiled politely. “I surely do not want to inconvenience you, Parker.”
He took another step closer, one that seemed to suck the air right out of the room. Was it hot in here? Did she forget to turn off an oven? Were her cheeks red?
“I insist, Reba. Of course, like I said, if it’s not an imposition.”
Imposition? Of course it is an imposition! Couldn’t he tell that she didn’t want him at her place?
It was all Reba could do not to stammer her reply. But she fortified herself with every charm-school-etiquette-class scenario she’d ever experienced. “Why no,” she said, smiling sweetly on the outside and quaking on the inside. “It’s not an imposition, Mr. McKenna. Not at all. I look forward to your visit.”